


You Are My Shelter

by MustardYellowSunshine



Category: InuYasha - A Feudal Fairy Tale
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe, Drama, F/M, Fluff, Historical, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-30
Updated: 2016-06-28
Packaged: 2018-05-30 02:11:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 27,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6404392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MustardYellowSunshine/pseuds/MustardYellowSunshine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the midst of a war between yōkai, two souls find shelter in each other. A village girl struggles to control a strange and deadly power. A half-demon fights to avenge his father. Can they withstand together what they could not alone? Or will they both be overcome?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Power

She watched for him sometimes. The forest flanking her village was his home, and every once in awhile, in the gloom cast by the dense patchwork of tree limbs and leaves, she’d catch a fleeting glimpse of red. She knew it was him, as she knew he allowed her to watch him. If he wasn’t in the mood to be noticed, he wouldn’t even let her hear the passing rustle of his departure—and more often than not he was in no mood. But occasionally, on the rare days when he seemed indifferent to her interest, he’d allow her that glimpse, that moment of acknowledgement.  

She’d tried speaking to him on one such occasion. He’d been immobile unusually long, leaning against the trunk of a tree, staring at patches of sky—she’d seen his build, the silver of his hair, the outline of his face before he’d thrown a glance at her, turned his back, and started walking away.

“Wait!” she’d called, “What’s your name?”

He hadn’t stopped. If anything, his pace quickened.

“Hey! I’m Kagome!”

He was gone before she could finish, and she hoped, rather than believed, that he heard.

 

* * *

 

She’d known about him her entire life.  Everyone in the village had heard the tales.

Her village was less than four generations old.  The stories of its founding were still told at firesides.  The first generation of villagers had fought for their patch of land—the local yōkai did not take kindly to human intrusion. Clashes were brutal: battles that lasted for days on end, raiding parties fought on both sides, ambushes deep within the forest.   Rather than seeking more peaceful lands, the villagers grew resilient and shrewd.  The land was fertile, close to a broad river teeming with fish, and the forest provided game.  The villagers were unwilling to leave, and the yōkai refused to let them stay.

Then, one day, attacks on the village ceased altogether.  For a solid week there was no demonic activity to be seen.  The villagers praised the gods for their deliverance.  Then _he_ came.  One bright morning, he stood outside the village’s hewn-log wall and demanded to see the headman.  His appearance, it was told, set everyone to whispering: blood red robes, hair as silver as the clouds, ears on _top_ of his head, and claws in place of fingernails.  Some still claimed that he didn’t even have fingers, only deadly razors where fingers _should_ be.  The field laborers retreated behind the walls, the guardsmen took up their bows, and all was tense silence until the headman finally came out, wary but without hesitation. 

No one knew exactly what was said in that conversation.  The villagers couldn’t hear anything from the safety of the walls.  All they could see were the wild gestures of the headman and the rigid posture of the yōkai (for yōkai he must be).  Then the yōkai growled something loudly at the headman and took off in a sprint towards the woods.  The headman returned with a thunderous expression and refused to tell anyone but a few trusted men what had passed between them.  He only said that the yōkai was not to be killed, lest the others retaliate.        

Though no one from the first generation of villagers was still living, a small number of the oldest villagers continued to credit the village’s prosperity to the silver-haired yōkai.  It was only because of this demon—this forest guardian—that the other demons stayed clear of the village, they said.  There was still the occasional ambush, still random attacks on hunters who ventured too far into the forest, but the organized raids were a thing of the past.  Without the constant worry of defense, the villagers had time to devote to their crops, animals, and artisan work.  The villagers sent for their extended family; they came hesitantly at first, but quickly set their roots in the place. Couples began having children, enough that the villagers started clear-cutting a section of land to make space for future building. Despite this, it never amounted to much more than a fishing village.  Its people, however, were firmly established, well-fed, and determined to remain that way.  

The old villagers may have given credit to the silver-haired yōkai for all this, but they were quickly silenced by the sneers of the rest.  In all the years that followed, the yōkai never reappeared.  Slowly but surely, the villagers who had been alive to see him that day from the village wall died off, and those left behind didn't think much of their stories. The red-robed yōkai had become a faerie tale, a myth dwindling into impotent legend. 

But still, there were whispers; and still, when they stepped under that line of trees, they felt some looming presence in the woods.   

 

* * *

 

“Kagome.”

Silence. The stir of heavy breathing.

“Kagome.”

The slight twitching of an eyebrow under heavy black bangs, accompanied shortly by an impatient whine.

“ _Kagome_ ,” creaked the old voice in exasperation.  “I _will_ get the water bucket if you make me repeat myself again.”

The sleeping girl’s eyes flew open as she sat up with the speed of a small forest animal fleeing a predator.  Grey irises—already squinting in the sunlight streaming through the doorway of the small hut—narrowed at the elderly woman standing above her, who was smiling in a way that might be described as “self-satisfied” in a lesser human.

“Someday, Kaede,” yawned the girl, “ _I’ll_ wake _you_ up from a dead sleep with a bucket of cold water to the face, and see how you like it.”

“When I laze about on my futon until mid-afternoon, you have my permission to do so.”

Kagome harrumphed, rubbing her eyes with her hands and arching her spine in a long stretch.  “If you’d been up all night helping the midwife deliver Kawaguchi-san’s baby, you’d be sleeping too.”

“Be that as it may,” said Kaede with more than a hint of amusement in her voice, “you are expected in the rice fields. All hands are needed.”  Kaede’s visible eye—the one not covered by a black, frayed eye patch—surveyed Kagome with a keen authority. 

For as long as she remembered, Kagome had both admired and quailed from that look.  She sighed heavily, blowing her dark bangs out of her eyes in the process.  Her legs and lower back already ached from the night before, crouching for long hours next to the midwife, bracing Kawaguchi-san’s shoulders to keep her upright during labor.  Kagome’s legs burned just _remembering_ how long she’d held that squat. She couldn’t imagine how her muscles would feel after an entire afternoon hunched over rice paddies while the sun scorched the back of her neck.  She groaned at the prospect.

“Up!” Kaede barked, nudging Kagome’s legs with her foot.  “The rice and the sun long to greet you.  You will sleep better tonight after a day’s work.”

Kagome leveled a narrow-eyed, deadpan stare at the old woman standing above her.  “Did you really just say that?”

“Up.”

Kagome sighed again.  She could never bring herself to defy the woman who had taken her in, however much her sleep-benumbed mind wanted to.  Trying to fool her body into believing it had just gotten a brilliant night’s sleep, Kagome slowly rolled to her feet.  She was already dressed in her work kimono, as she had more or less collapsed from exhaustion that morning. 

“Would you like anything to eat before you leave?  Some rice?”  Kaede asked as she hobbled to the fire in the middle of the room and kneeled before the black pot hanging over its flames. 

Kagome shook her head rigorously, more to wake herself up than anything else.  “No, thanks, I’m about to have more rice than I can stand.”

Kaede simply smiled and began to stir the contents of the pot. “I am sorry, child.” 

“I know.” Kagome stretched one last time, standing on her tiptoes and running her fingers through her long feathery hair, trying to smooth out some of the tangles. Once at the door of the hut, Kagome smiled at the old woman and waved her hand once.  “I’ll see you tonight, Kaede.”

She lifted the woven reed mat covering the doorway and ducked outside. The sun was bright, its rays immediately warming the skin of her face and arms. The air was humid, thrumming with heat and the chirps of insects. Before her, the village opened out in a gentle slope down towards the village gate, the only opening in the twenty-foot wall made of sharpened, felled trees that encircled the village on all sides. Beyond the gate was the forest, green and looming, a wild thing right on their doorstep. The rice fields—along with the vegetable fields—were just past the outlying trees, in a large expanse of open land close to the river. The soil was rich and vicinity to the river made for easy irrigation.  A narrow dirt path led from the village gate to the rice fields, winding between the tall trees and sparse undergrowth of the forest.  It was about a ten minute walk from the gate to the fields—it was likely going to be the most pleasant part of Kagome’s day. 

 _Well_ , the girl thought, _the sooner I begin the sooner it’s over_.  She trotted down the grassy hill, passing several huts along the way.  She reached the gate without seeing anyone—most all the villagers were already in the fields, planting the year’s crops—for which she was grateful.  The moment she stepped into the shade of the forest, her breath left her in a pleased sigh. She’d always loved the forest, its loamy scent and shadowy trees.  Her pace slowed some as she walked, enjoying the dappled light and the cooler air.  Humming under her breath, she ran her fingers against the bark of the nearest trees as she passed.  She heard birdsong in the branches above her, and the insistent scrapings of cicadas.

Ahead of her, the path bent to the right, around a tight cluster of trees. She rounded the bend and froze.  Her eyes widened.  Her breath caught in her throat.  She couldn’t move.

There he stood.  Just to the side of the path, a few yards ahead of her.

 _It’s him_.

His back was to her, though he was angled in such a way that she could glimpse his profile and some of his face.  The silver triangles of his ears twitched atop his head, and silver hair draped down his back, as still and motionless as the air around them.  His arms were crossed over his chest, hands resting in the sleeves of his red suikan in seeming repose.  Despite his relaxed posture, he was tense, taut as a bowstring. Still. Waiting.

Her lungs remembered to breathe before she did.  Inhaling sharply, she wondered what she ought to do.  Move forward?  Call out to him?  Turn back?  

But it was too late.  He’d heard her.  Faster than she could track the movement, he whipped around, silver hair swinging in a graceful arc, legs crouching defensively, claws at the ready.  Sharp golden eyes narrowed at her.

He didn’t say anything, simply watched her.  They stood, staring at each other for long moments, neither willing to move first.  Kagome’s eyes raked over his face, his frame, memorizing every detail.  He was taller than her, even in his slight crouch, and he was younger than she’d thought he’d be—her age at least, maybe a little older.  _But the legends_ , she thought, _he’s been around for hundreds of years.  He can’t be this young_. Her eyes went once again to the downy, triangular ears atop his head. _Hanyō_. _Half-demon_. He had a strong face, she decided. Prominent jaw, straight nose, black wing-shaped eyebrows over the most beautiful eyes she’d ever seen.  _Is this real?_   He’d always been a red blur through the trees, a glint of silver and gold in her peripheral vision.  She’d never been this close to him before, never seen this much of him at once.  Had she been less absorbed, she might have noticed the sudden quiet of the forest, the absence of birdsong and cicadas.

And then he was speaking.  “Get out of here,” he growled, his voice low and husky, scraping across her skin. 

She swallowed.  Stared at him.  _Say something_ , her mind demanded.  She opened her mouth.  Closed it.  Opened it.

 _Dammit_ , she thought as her teeth clicked shut again. _Say something_!

“You deaf?  Get out of here!” 

“W-why?”

“You need to leave. Now.”

Her eyebrows snapped together in a frown. “I… I can’t.  I need to get to the fields.”

“You _need_ to listen to me and _leave_.” 

 _Wha…_ “No.”

“ _No_?” His growl turned into a snarl.  “If you think—”

There was a loud crack.  His body pivoted towards the sound—the same direction he’d been staring earlier. Then a groaning, thundering crash that shook the very ground they stood on, and one of the largest trees Kagome had ever seen was moving, falling in a rush of sound, falling right on top of them.  Before Kagome had the chance to scream, something heavy collided with her midsection, knocking the wind right out of her. 

Her entire body tensed, preparing for impact with the ground. It never came. With a rough jerk around her navel, she felt herself being lifted. Arms held her around the waist, and suddenly she was soaring, her face pressed against warm, rough fabric.  She opened her eyes and saw red cloth.  

“If you don’t want to die, hold on,” his voice rumbled from somewhere above her head. 

They were high in the air, so high above the trees she could see the village in the distance.  His grip on her was tough, uncomfortable, but when she looked down she didn’t care. _Oh gods._

Then they were falling, and she had the distinct sensation that her stomach was in the region of her throat.

They landed more gently than she would have imagined possible, his knees bending into a crouch to absorb the brunt of the impact.  They were a fair distance away from the fallen tree—it lay directly across the path, the earth around it broken and jagged.  As soon as their feet touched the ground he released her, and in the next instant he was gone, running in the direction the tree had fallen from. 

He’d barely reached the fallen trunk when the entire tree line began to shake and rumble so fiercely Kagome thought the whole forest would come down in a blaze of sound. She slumped to her knees and felt the vibrations in her bones. The hanyō stopped, tense and expectant. 

A yōkai emerged from the shadows of the forest, a creature unlike anything Kagome had ever seen.  It had a bone-white exoskeleton like an insect, with a head and sharp spiked forelegs that resembled a praying mantis; the rest of its body trailed behind it like a worm, fleshy and raw underneath the cage of its skeleton. The very end of its body was solidly encased in that bone, and it looked limber enough to swing—the perfect weapon. The beast was fifteen feet tall if it was an inch.

Suddenly that bone-encased tail was up in the air and arcing down, straight towards the hanyō.  Kagome screamed right as he leapt out of its range, with a speed she couldn’t even see. Her brain felt numb, her limbs as heavy as the fallen tree.

From where she sat, slumped on the ground, she was far enough away to be out of the yōkai’s range, but close enough to become its next target. The hanyō, who had leapt under the protective cover of the trees, yelled, “ _Move_! Find a hiding place and _stay there_!”

She wanted to. She wanted to run, and keep running until she was back to the village, until she couldn’t hear the high-pitched, rattling screech of that yōkai, until she forgot it even existed. Terror pumped through her veins, bled into her lungs. _Run_ , she thought. _I should run_.  Her legs didn’t even twitch.

 _Again_. _It’s happening again_.

A memory flashed through her mind—blood-stained ground, bright agonizing light, the screaming of a child.

“Fucking useless human,” she heard from what seemed like a huge distance. The sound brought her out of herself. Her mind cleared and her eyes snapped into focus. There he was, leaving his cover, leaping towards the yōkai with his deadly claws extended. Protecting her, she realized. With a guttural cry, he slashed at one of its razor forelegs. Bone splintered, flesh ripped apart. Blood sprayed him in the face as the yōkai’s leg fell to the ground. A long, high shriek was the only warning he had before the other leg swung at him, cutting the hanyō across the chest and throwing him into the ground, the impact so loud Kagome thought every bone in his body must be broken. In the time it took to blink, the yōkai’s tail was speeding towards the hanyō’s skull.

Kagome didn’t remember moving. It was not a conscious decision. One second she’d watched the half-demon get thrown aside like a rag doll, and the next she was running towards him, arm outstretched as though she could ward off the blow that would surely kill him. The only discernible thought in her mind was, _I can’t watch him die, I can’t watch him die_.  

She reached his body, dropped into a crouch over him, her right forearm propped against his chest, her left arm raised palm outward above her head.

It happened in an instant. Her indrawn breath. The burning, aching sensation in her hand. One thought ringing through the utter stillness in her mind. _For once in my life, I need you. Please._

Then a brilliant flash of pink-tinged light. A wailing shriek. The searing sensation in her hand traveled up her arm, spread through her chest, engulfed her entire body in flame and a deep bone-ache that made her forget everything but the pain. Her scream was drowned out by the yōkai’s wailing.

Just as quickly as it began, it ended. Deadened silence reigned in the forest around them. An insistent, tingling throb slowly replaced the aching pain in her body. Kagome took a deep breath and realized, with some surprise, that she had fallen to the ground. She opened her eyes and sat up. On the ground before her, the bone of its tail nearly touching her feet, lay the corpse of the mantis yōkai. Hunks of charred, rent flesh clung to its skeleton, but there wasn’t a single mark on the bone itself. The skull—every inch of skin and under-flesh burned clean off—faced her direction, as though accusing its executioner.

Kagome took a long moment to collect herself, to allow her mind to catch up with the events that seemed to span ten hours rather than ten minutes. She turned to face the hanyō lying on the ground beside her, only to find his eyes open and upon her. He watched her with something akin to dislike. Distrust. He sat up, still staring at her—were his eyes uncommonly bright in their scrutiny?—hesitated, and then stood in a quick, fluid motion. Kagome, startled by his sudden wariness, rose more slowly. They stood, once again, facing each other.

“You—your chest,” Kagome said, cautiously pointing a finger at the bloodstains spreading across his suikan, “and your face. How are they? Are you okay?”

“You’re a miko,” he said abruptly. His voice was low, gravelly, and there was an accusatory edge to it that made Kagome step back.

She felt a tightness form in her throat. “W-what? No. I’m no miko.”

A frown puckered his eyebrows, and his lips pulled back in disbelief. “I know a miko’s power when I see it.” Then he paused, took one deliberate sniff. “I know the stench of one, too. I've seen you before. You live in the village. Why the hell did you allow that yōkai to hunt here so long?”

Kagome, caught somewhere between fear and an unaccountable resentment—the feeling that flooded her insides every time her powers were brought up—took another step back. “I told you, I’m not a miko. I’ve never trained. I’ve never even _seen_ a miko.”

“You’re not fooling me, wench, so you might as well stop trying.” A growl rumbled in the hanyō’s throat. “If your village had a miko, you damn well should’ve said something before I came all the way out here.”

 _Said something? What?_ “Look, I’m telling you, I’m not—”

“Sonuvabitch Sesshōmaru’s probably laughing his ass off right now. Colossal waste of my time—” 

“What on earth are you—”

He jerked his head to the side, snarling, “I’m out of here, your miko stench is making me nauseous. If you’re smart, you’ll get back to your village and stay there. Next time you let a yōkai run around loose, don’t count on any _pest control_ —I won’t waste my energy.”

“Wha—hey, wait!”

But the hanyō wasn’t listening. Straightening his suikan with one hand and wiping the blood off his face with the other, he started walking away as though Kagome were no more than a pebble on the ground.

She stared at his retreating back, flummoxed by absolutely everything that had happened since she’d woken up in Kaede’s hut—gods, had that been less than an hour ago? Watching him walk away towards the cover of the trees, she felt that inexplicable resentment curling in the pit of her stomach. She was familiar with this sensation, this burning cold weight cradled between her ribs—she’d felt it often. She realized, almost in passing, that this was the only time she’d ever heard him speak. And all he'd done was dismiss her.

She could not and did not care to understand her blossoming anger. She just followed its lead.

With a quick jerk of her body, Kagome started jogging to catch up with the departing hanyō, reigning in the urge to yank on the silvery hair swinging down his back. She called ahead, “You know, you’re pretty rude for someone who owes me his life.”

His entire frame stiffened before he stopped suddenly. Pivoting on his heel, he turned and stared incredulously at Kagome, who came to a halt in front of him. 

“ _Me_?” he said, jaw clenching, “Owe _you_?” His mouth opened and then snapped shut again. He seemed to have reached the limit of words.

Kagome, exhaling a long breath, nodded as though this was the most obvious thing in the world. She saw a muscle in his jaw flex, and felt a deep, albeit vengeful, satisfaction. “I’m not denying you helped me out back there, and I’m grateful for it; but I’m the only reason you’re still walking around with your head. So maybe you should try that again.”

His eyebrows lowered in a deep frown. He didn’t say anything. She noticed his left hand clench into a ball at his side. This was the closest she’d ever stood to him, the first time she’d ever heard him speak, and she couldn’t control that cold burning in her stomach. This was not how she'd ever imagined meeting him, speaking to him. Had he even said his name?

Suddenly, Kagome felt very tired. “Listen,” she said, “I didn’t—I wasn’t trying to...” She exhaled again, slowly. “My name’s Kagome. What’s yo—” He moved quickly. She stopped speaking with a gasp. His grip around her neck made it impossible for her to breathe.

She hadn’t even seen him move. Now there was a deadly glint in the narrowed golden eyes watching her as she struggled to get oxygen around the fingers squeezing her windpipe. Her hands clutched and scrabbled at his forearm, desperately trying to yank off his hold, but there was no way she could match his strength. To drive this point home, he squeezed her neck just a little more tightly, the muscles in his forearm flexing under her hands, the tips of his claws digging into her skin. An ugly smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth.

“If it’s a question of owing,” he growled lowly, “then consider this my payment.” He jerked her closer, brought her face up to his. “I can’t _stand_ the smell of you. Don’t cross me again.”

He shoved her away from him, letting his claws scrape across her neck as he did. She hit the ground hard enough to raise dust where she landed. She lay on her back, gasping and coughing, chest heaving as she gulped in all the air she could hold. Her hands flew to her aching throat, and her fingertips caught the warm moisture of blood trickling down her neck.

Then she heard his voice, moving away from her. “Consider us even. Oh,” now his voice took on a hard edge, “the name’s Inuyasha. You better pray you never hear it again.”

He was gone.

She lay there, gasping, unable to regulate her breathing, for what seemed to be hours. She could feel her throat swelling, could almost feel it bruising as she lay there. Her fingers felt along the cuts on her neck—the bleeding was fairly heavy, but the cuts were shallow, more like scratches than real cuts. Yet he'd seemed so capable, so _willing_ to do her real harm.

She knew she should get up, return to the village. But she couldn’t muster the willpower to do anything other than lay there and breathe. Shadows began to lengthen, the gloom of dusk gathering around the trunks of the trees.

The sun was just setting when the villagers—returning home from the rice fields—found her there, lying along the path not ten yards away from the skeleton of the mantis yōkai, its dark empty eyes staring straight at them.

 

* * *

 

She’d always had this power, from the beginning of her memory. When she was small, barely yet walking, it had manifested in moments of joy or upset: when a particularly beautiful bird or flower delighted her, or when the village children teased her. A muted white-pink glow would emanate from her, sparkle in the air around her; depending on the intensity of any given feeling, it would come with a warm, tingling sensation that would grow or fade, lending intensity to the light. Her parents, concerned and unsure of this strange phenomenon, had consulted the village healer, Kaede, but did not receive any satisfactory explanations. She was simply exhibiting signs of “spiritual inclinations.” They would have to watch and wait.

Before long, the power grew beyond the confines of her emotions—there were times she could be calm, bored, or even sleeping, and the light would appear nonetheless, bringing with it a rushing, pulsing heat. Not painful, but present. The heat, like the light, seemed to radiate from her very skin, and like the light, it grew stronger. When she was eight, she began to experience new symptoms: cramping, burning muscle—as though from extreme physical exertion—and a throbbing ache in her bones. And by ten, when the power came, people in close proximity to her could feel the heat, the odd push and pressure of it, as though the air around her condensed, grew heavy. This was about the time the village children stopped playing with her.

Eventually, Kagome found that when she concentrated hard enough, she could manipulate the light and its heat. If she focused her attention on any given point, she could make the light appear there. Sometimes it would appear in a bright, sudden flash; at other times, it would slowly begin to grow there, like the morning sun rising above the hills. Her mother caught her at this game once. She must have been eleven, maybe twelve years old. She'd been at the river, collecting water for washing. As she filled the water buckets, she stared intently at a spot near the opposing river bank. Slowly, a ball of light began to grow, hovering in the air above the water. It grew brighter and brighter, until it was flashing out waves of light, like a tiny sun. She let out a giggle right as she heard a stern "Kagome!" behind her. Instantly the light disappeared, and Kagome whipped around to face her infuriated mother. That bright summer afternoon, she promised her mother never to manipulate the light again. And she did her best to keep that promise. 

And then…

Then _it_ had happened. And she was alone. She’d wanted to die, had felt as though she _was_ dying, when Kaede took her in. And over time, with Kaede's coaching, she learned to push the power down, hide it away. Kaede taught her what controlling techniques she could, but Kagome would always remember what Kaede told her that night: “I will do all I can to help you, child, but my help will be limited. This is unlike any spiritual ability I have yet seen. It is possible that the power you show is the raw power of an untrained miko, but I do not believe that to be the case. This is not a miko’s power, it is something else altogether… and so a miko’s techniques may only go so far.”

Kagome hadn’t lied: she was no miko.

She was a monster.     

 

* * *

 

Kagome knew from the moment the villagers found her that it wouldn’t be good.

After a lengthy, shocked pause, and many outcries from people in the crowd—nearly everyone in the village had been planting the rice and vegetable crops, meaning nearly everyone in the village was standing there now—two men had picked her up and helped her stand. Between them, they walked her back to the village. The rest of the villagers trailed after them, muttering to each other in harsh whispers. Kagome could hear their collective voices rising and falling, exclaiming and shushing with sharp hisses. Their voices weaved together into one voice, an amalgamation of  disapproval. She could not hear the words, but she did not need to.

When they reached the village gates, two young boys ran ahead into the dark, one to fetch Kaede, the other to report to the headman. Kagome was struck by the orchestration of it all, the smooth efficiency. Everyone seemed to know what to do, as though she were planned for, or _around_ , the way one might plan for a flood or a famine.

Kagome was walked directly to Kaede’s hut. She arrived just as Kaede was exiting it with one of the village runner’s who’d gone ahead—they passed abreast of each other, Kagome ushered inside while Kaede went in the direction of the headman’s hut. As they passed, Kaede nodded briefly, almost resignedly. The look on her face was one of long-suffering patience. Kagome knew this look— _I understand_ , it seemed to say, _but again? I wish you hadn't_. This was not unexpected for her, either.

Once inside, the village men set her down on her pallet, and then left the hut. Kagome, however, didn't hear them walk away. She heard a pronounced cough near the door, and then silence. She pictured them standing on either side of the doorway, as though on guard duty.

They probably were.

Kagome sighed, and then flinched. Her throat felt raw and ravaged, and her skin was just beginning to feel the itch from the dry, crusted blood streaked across her neck. Looking around the hut she spotted, against the wall, a wooden bucket of water with a small white cloth hanging on its edge. Kagome got up, retrieved the bucket, and began washing away the dried blood. Once the majority of it was cleaned off, she began to more thoroughly clean the scratches along the side of her neck. It took some time to accomplish this, and by the time she was done, Kaede had still not returned. Kagome, throat aching and stomach roiling from everything that had happened, stretched out on her pallet and waited. A man's cough sounded from the doorway again, and the other man muttered, "Quiet."

Despite her anxiety, Kagome was beginning to doze when Kaede finally returned, shuffling in a slow, aged gait. As she entered the hut, Kagome heard two sets of feet walking away from the door, and the low baritone rumble of men's whispering faded into the night.

Kaede stood in the doorway a moment, a solemn look on her face. Her kind, grave eye surveyed Kagome sadly.

"Are you much hurt, child?"

Kagome sat up, shaking her head.

"I'm fine." The rough-edged croak in her voice belied this statement. Kagome reached a hand up to rub her neck. "What's... what's going on, Kaede?"

Kaede sighed softly and moved towards the wooden platform in the center of the room. She hunkered down into a kneeling position—joints audibly creaking—and said, "Perhaps I should be asking you that. What happened, child?"

Kagome flinched at the underlying disappointment in Kaede's voice—disappointment was not much better than suspicion. "I was attacked. By a yōkai."

When Kagome did not offer any further information, Kaede said, "As it happens, I already knew that. The headman mentioned... a carcass. Some men from the village are clearing it away as we speak." Kaede paused. "I do not think it will surprise you to hear that the appearance of the yōkai is what distresses the headman and the villagers."

Kagome dropped her gaze to the floor and nodded.

"Yōkai do not usually come this near the village. There has not been a yōkai attack like this in many years. It... disturbs the headman that one has happened now."

"But that's not all that's disturbing him, is it?"

Kagome looked up in time to see Kaede's keen glance, and she knew there would be no dancing around the subject. "Kagome, you know what has disturbed the villagers. Can you offer no further explanation? What happened in the forest?"

Kagome couldn't help the frustrated noise that erupted from her throat. "I _told_ you, I was attacked by a yōkai. I reacted." Kagome, for reasons she left unexamined, did not want to bring up Inuyasha. He had always been her secret, the silver-red blur in the trees that somehow made her feel less lonely. And she intended to keep it that way. Even if she did mention him, no one would believe her. "What exactly am I being accused of, Kaede? Why were you taken to the headman? What's going on?" 

After a moment's pause, the old woman sighed—a sad, almost pained sound—and closed her eye. When she opened it again, she looked wearied. "You know better than I how the villagers have always feared your power. Since you were a small child, you have baffled and confounded their understanding. But your parents were respected, and so the villagers tolerated it. They accepted you as best they could. This is why your parents' death—the manner of their death—"

Kagome, bowing her head, turned her face away.

"—pushed the limits of that acceptance. I never told you this, but after I took you in, it was made clear to me by the headman and the rest of the villagers that I was to contain this power in you. I was to keep you from using it ever again. If I could not, they would take their own action." Kagome's head whipped up and she stared at Kaede. "You must forgive me for keeping it from you," Kaede said, more wearied than ever. "I wanted to give you as normal a life as I could. You were so young." Kaede paused, frowned. These memories did not please her. "I did my best to protect you from their suspicion. I told them you were but a child, that you needed training in order to contain the power. They yielded to me, and I've had the care of you ever since. But that does not mean they were not taking their own precautions."

Kagome continued to stare at Kaede, unable to speak.

"I knew they had made such plans, of course. Plans in the event that you lost control of your power; I suspect that is what we have seen tonight. What I did not know—what I have just found out tonight," Kaede's frown deepened, her expression grew darker, "is that their intolerance is only matched by their ignorance."

She said this so angrily that a knot formed in Kagome's stomach. If Kaede—imperturbable, unflappable Kaede—was this worked up, nothing good had happened in her meeting with the headman.

"The headman has informed me that he, and most of the villagers, believe your power to be... _attracting_ demonic activity somehow. He is convinced that you used your power while in the forest, and that doing so drew the yōkai here."

Kagome's jaw dropped open. Her mouth worked soundlessly for a moment, unable to voice her own outrage. "I—that's—I never—I _would never_! I didn't use my power! I mean, I _did_ , but not until _after_ I'd been attacked! I was only defending myself!"

"I told the headman that was likely the case," Kaede said, "that you are no more eager than he to use your power. I do not think, however, that I much convinced him."

There was a long silence. Anger fed by bitterness brewed in Kagome's mind. Years of fighting herself, her own power, flashed behind her eyes; years of the villager's sharp glances, their whispers and turned heads. "So that's why all this production?" she said finally, an acrid tang of resentment in her tone. "That's why the mob, and the guards, the secret meetings? What are they going to do with me now? Lock me up? Throw me to the forest yōkai?"

Kaede did not like hearing such bitterness in the normally-happy girl's voice, and did not validate it with her notice. She swept it aside with the same authoritative look that had made Kagome jump out of bed that morning. "The headman fears your power, but he is not without decency—especially after I reminded him that even if your power somehow attracted the yōkai, it also killed it. He has asked that you remain inside the hut for a day or two, to give the villagers time to settle and him time to consider how best to proceed." 

"Stay inside? Won't that make the villagers think I'm guilty? That I'm hiding from them?"

"I shall do my best to discourage that attitude, but that is unfortunately a possibility."

"And after I've stayed out of sight for a few days, what then?" Kagome tried to hold onto her anger—it was so much more palatable than fear—but it was rapidly deflating with the realization that this incident would not be soon or easily forgotten.

Kaede's mouth formed a flat, grim line. "I do not know. I do not think even the headman knows. I warn you, Kagome: this could go either way. The headman may choose to let you continue living your life as you have these past years, or he may choose to take action as he promised he would the night your parents died. I cannot guess how this will end."

Kagome and Kaede watched each other in silence for awhile. There didn't seem to be anything else to say. Kaede heaved herself up into a standing position and walked towards her pallet. As she passed by Kagome, she laid a gentle hand on the ball of her shoulder and gave it a reassuring squeeze. Unable to smile for the old woman as she normally would, Kagome laid her own hand on Kaede's and nodded. After a moment, Kaede let go and moved to her pallet. Once she was settled, Kagome laid down on her own pallet and stared at the thatched ceiling of the hut.

For the second night in a row, Kagome did not sleep.

 

* * *

 

_She's a witch._

_She must have summoned the yōkai. She did it!_

_It's happened before. Do you remember two years ago? She was there the day the field hands were attacked by the boar yōkai. They say it went straight towards her. Didn’t go for anyone else. Just her._

_I heard that when the yōkai approached, she glowed pink. Glowed!_

_They say an aura of energy surrounded her._

_She’s a witch._

_She was with her parents the night they were killed. How can we know she wasn't involved, that she didn't bring it on somehow?_

_If she did it once, who’s to say she won’t do it again? This won’t be the last time, mark my words!_

_She’s cursed._

_Why doesn’t the headman turn her out?_

_Old Kaede is mad.  Why would she defend the girl after that? How could she keep her?_

_She’s a witch._

_She’s mad._

_She’s cursed._

 

* * *

 

It was decided—after several more meetings between Kaede and the headman—that Kagome would remain with Kaede, but under vigilant supervision. She was not to leave the village without permission, and only then with an escort. She was to spend her time training with Kaede, learning new techniques and improving old ones to better control her power. She was not to take part in any important village activity—such as planting, harvesting, or assisting the midwife—until she'd demonstrated real control for an undetermined (but probably extraordinarily long) stretch of time. And most importantly, she was not to show even the slightest sign of white-pink light, external heat, supernatural power, or anything else that might be construed as abnormal. The smallest hint of any intentional—or unintentional—power would bring "consequences," though the headman was vague on what those "consequences" entailed.

In essence, Kagome was on probation. Even if these demands had not been made of her, she would still know she was on probation—the villagers made it abundantly clear that a single misstep was all they needed to turn her out of the village. The atmosphere, at least around _her_ , was like kindling ready to ignite. Every eye seemed to be watching her and yet ignoring her at the same time. Everyone seemed so aware of her and yet so unwilling to acknowledge her.

A week went by this way, and each day Kagome was resentful, hopeful, and disheartened by turns. When she was angry she had wild fantasies about running away, leaving the village and their condemnation behind, starting over somewhere new. This fantasy was always brought up short by the dull ache it produced in her chest. This was the village she had been born in, the village her parents had been born in. This was the village where Kaede had given her a new life. For better or worse, she was not ready to leave it.

When another two weeks went by with no incidents, the headman allowed Kaede to be Kagome's permanent escort when she had to leave the confines of the village wall. One morning the two women were walking to the river to collect water when Kagome felt a strange, tingling awareness run down her spine. She stopped in the middle of the forest path, her senses suddenly on high alert.

"Kagome?" Kaede inquired curiously. "Is something wrong?"

"No," Kagome said calmly. "Everything's fine." Her ears strained to pick up the sound of rustling cloth, running feet. But she did not hear anything.

They resumed walking.

And then that tingling awareness again, and Kagome knew for sure—knew he was there before she turned her head to the right and caught a flash of red underneath the shadows of the trees. She inhaled sharply, but did not stop walking. From the corner of her eye, Kagome kept watch on the tree line. There was another flash of red, and when they got further down the path, another. It followed them all the way to the river, and if the tingling in Kagome's spine was any indication, he stayed just behind the trees the entire time they were at the river. When Kagome bent over to fill a bucket, she cast her glance behind her and— _gods_ —there he was, just for a moment, his entire frame visible against the trunk of a tree. Had he shown himself intentionally? Even from that distance, she caught the flash of his eyes and was startled to see they were locked onto her. Her spine went rigid. She abruptly turned her gaze back to the river and kept it there. When the water buckets were full, Kagome followed Kaede back down the path, her eyes glued to the ground in front of her feet. 

She did not see any more red flashes, but she knew he was still there. He followed them all the way back to the village. And when Kagome went to sleep that night, she was sure she still felt him out there, watching.


	2. Watcher

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: thar be strong language in these here waters (because Inuyasha has a potty mouth when he's grumpy).

That stupid, fucking, shit-eating _bastard_.

Inuyasha swiped his claws clean through the trunk of a nearby tree, not feeling nearly enough satisfaction at the crashing sounds it made as it fell. His fingers tensed, curled around the impulse to rip into something, anything.

With a furious snarl, he sliced through an even larger tree, still unsatisfied with the destruction it caused as it collapsed into several surrounding trees. Not enough, not nearly enough to vent the raw frustration blistering in his gut.

A month. An entire godsdamned _month_ he'd been here, _babysitting_. A month of lurking outside this stupid backwater village, a month of watching and hearing and _smelling_ these human yokels, a month of chasing off pathetic yōkai not even worth the effort of drawing his sword... a month of being completely and totally _useless_. A month since he'd saved that miko bitch.

This. Was. All. Her. Fault.

Down fell another tree.

Disgusted— _not even a scrawny, weak-ass yōkai around to tear apart_ , he thought with a growl—Inuyasha ran further into the forest, wanting to get as far away from the human village as he could without blatantly disobeying orders. 

 _Feh. Who gives a fuck about orders? Let the bastard get pissy._ Now that he thought about it, he couldn't decide who was more to blame: the miko bitch, or The Asshole.

**::**

_It had taken him three days to reach_ _Sesshōmaru's stronghold, and it was nearing sundown when_ _he finally arrived. Built on a promontory jutting out from a mountain spur, the castle commanded wide views from an extremely defensible position. It was an imposing sight, both up close and from a distance. Stone walls surrounded it on all sides, the castle's keep towering up from the back of a large courtyard. The keep was three stories tall, an intricate structure of stone and wood soaring up in a series of carved gables and peaked roofs. Connected to the keep on its right and left sides were two-storey wings, where most of the castle's business took place. The keep itself was_ _Sesshōmaru's domain, and he did not make a habit of allowing others to trespass on his privacy._

 _So, naturally, Inuyasha took great pleasure in barging into the keep uninvited whenever he possibly could. And tonight—after three tedious days of travelling to bring back a report on an assignment he hadn't wanted in the first place—he took even greater pleasure in it than usual. Ignoring the warnings of the guards posted at the entrance, he burst through the enormous, metal-plated wooden doors and followed The Asshole's scent into the depths of the keep. The scent led him straight to_ _Sesshōmaru's stateroom._

_The sight that met him might once have surprised him._

_Sesshōmaru—daimyo, first born son of the Inu no Taisho, Demon Lord of the largest territory in Honshu, leader of armies, merciless in victory and feared in defeat—was kneeling before a small human girl, examining individual pink chrysanthemums that she held up for his inspection. His face was impassive as ever, the stoic bastard; but Inuyasha noted something odd—the slightest absence of tension, maybe—around the eyes. The girl's mouth was stretched in a delighted smile as she held up each flower._

_"—and Jaken-sama called them 'weeds,' and said no one would notice them, but_ I _knew they would be pretty decorations for the castle, so—"_

_The girl paused and turned her attention to Inuyasha as he entered the room. "Inuyasha-sama!" She seemed as delighted by his appearance as she had been by her flowers, her brown eyes warm. She was dressed informally in a bright yellow and orange kimono; most of her dark hair lay loose around her shoulders, except for a small portion gathered into a ponytail at the side of her head. She had clearly spent most of her day playing, away from the stuffy formalities of castle business._

_Sesshōmaru didn't even glance at him, voice and expression as flat as a mountain lake. "What have I told you about entering my quarters without permission, half-breed?"_

_Inuyasha snorted and folded his arms, stance shifting into the casual slouch he knew Sesshōmaru hated. "Nice to see you too, asshole." He nodded briefly at the girl. "Rin. You still babysitting the toad?"_

_Rin's smile widened. "I keep Jaken-sama very busy! Today I took him flower picking in the meadows down the hill." Rin paused for a moment, then lowered her voice in a mild sulk. "He says that I couldn't be more bothersome if I put effort into it. "_

_Inuyasha swore he saw a miniscule twitch at the corner of Sesshōmaru's mouth as the Demon Lord rose to his full height. He lifted his arm and snapped his fingers once._

_Out in the hall, they heard the patter of hurrying feet and a wheezing voice cry, "Coming, my Lord! Coming!" A squat green imp—shorter than the human girl, with a narrow face, bulbous yellow eyes, and long beak-like mouth—came jogging into the room. He was wearing the robes and regalia of a court vassal, and his demeanor oozed self-importance. He stopped before Sesshōmaru and bowed deeply. "What do you require of me, Lord?" Shooting a narrow-eyed, sideways glance at Inuyasha, he continued, "Shall I remove this half-breed nuisance?"_

_Inuyasha sneered. "I'd like to see you try, toad." He flexed his fingers, claws glinting in the lamplight of the room._

_Jaken whirled to face the hanyō. "Do not underestimate me, vermin! Why, with my staff of—"_

_"Jaken."_

_The imp immediately stilled at the sound of the Demon Lord's voice. "M-my Lord?"_

_"Take Rin to her chambers. See that she eats."_

_Jaken hesitated for a split second, still eyeing Inuyasha with pronounced distaste._

_"I will not repeat myself."_

_If the chill in Sesshōmaru's voice hadn't sent Jaken scurrying with a yelped "Yes, milord," the narrowed golden eyes and arched silver eyebrow would have._

_"Come Rin!" Jaken said with imperious tone, "Collect your weeds and I shall escort you on your way. Lord Sesshōmaru has more important things to do than look at your smelly plants. Why, a lowly human like you is lucky—"_

_Rin, gathering together her chrysanthemums, shared a brief glance with Inuyasha and rolled her eyes. He couldn't suppress his soft snort of amusement, and she grinned in response. "Will you come see me before you leave, Inuyasha-sama?"_

_Inuyasha frowned, though he couldn't quite mask the note of affection in his tone when he said, "We'll see, kid."_

_Rin pouted. "But I didn't get to see you at all last time you were here!"_

_"—are you listening to me? Rin!"_

_With another little eye-roll, Rin turned to Jaken. "Yes, yes, let us go, Jaken-sama."_

_The imp huffed and led the human girl out of the room, treating Inuyasha to another dirty look as he passed. At the door, Rin gave a jaunty little wave before disappearing down the hall. Slowly, the sounds of the imp's shrill lecturing receded, and then there was silence._

_Turning his back on Inuyasha, Sesshōmaru approached a massive wooden table situated in a wide alcove at the far end of the room. Set in the wall above the table was a window covered in ornate latticework; twin oil lamps burned on either side of this window, casting a flickering light on the maps and scrolls littering the table's surface. Sesshōmaru examined the largest of the maps, the claw of his forefinger skimming lightly over its surface. Another moment of silence, and then, "What did you discover?"_

_The Asshole's voice—monotone, inscrutable, but always laced with intolerable authority—grated in Inuyasha's ears. But it was the question itself that irritated him most. His hands clenched against his biceps. Frustration edged with disappointment gnawed in his stomach and he tried to keep it from showing in his voice. "Not a damn thing."_

_A tense pause._

_"Nothing?"_

_Scowling—and absolutely_ not _stalling—Inuyasha looked away from the Demon Lord and scanned the room around him. The place reeked of The Asshole's scent, indicating just how much time Sesshōmaru spent here. The stateroom was large and sparsely, though opulently, furnished: a few lacquered tables, embroidered sitting cushions, a sizeable zelkova-wood tansu, and two intricately painted vases placed on either side of the alcove in which Sesshōmaru stood. The vases were filled with rolled scrolls, most of them maps (or maps-in-progress)of their territories. Oil lamps intermittently lined the walls and filled the room with soft orange light, which reflected off the highly-polished wood floors._

_Inuyasha hated this room, always had, and being in it again—hell, being anywhere near this gods-forsaken castle—set him on edge. His voice was low and rough when he repeated, "No, nothing. At least nothing we didn't already know."_

_Inuyasha heard Sesshōmaru shift, and he glanced back at him. The Demon Lord had turned just enough to eye his half-brother._

_"Explain to me," Sesshōmaru began, scarcely-contained impatience underpinning each word, "how you could have so utterly failed."_

_Inuyasha's scowl darkened. He straightened from his negligent slouch and uncrossed his arms, hands fisting at his sides. "I didn't_ fail _anything. Didn't you hear me? There's_ nothing _there—nothing but what we already expected, just a bunch of weak yōkai prowling where they got no business being."_

 _"And that, whelp, was precisely your task: to discover_ why _. Surely you did not think it a mere coincidence that yōkai are infringing upon Musashi? Now, and with such frequency?" Sesshōmaru's eyebrows lowered in a deep frown. "I did not think you that much a fool."_

 _A growl ripped from Inuyasha's throat. "Of course I didn't! I'm not stupid, you bastard! But I'm telling you, Musashi's a dead end. I fucking scoured the whole province—there were no signs of Naraku. Not even a whiff of him. No yōkai or humans carried a trace of his scent or admitted to any contact with him. There were no trails anywhere I looked—and I looked_ everywhere _. If he's somehow orchestrating these invasions, he's not doing it from Musashi. I'm wasting my time there."_

 _Sesshōmaru's lip curled. "_ I _will decide where your worthless time is best spent. And there is no question of 'if'. Naraku_ is _behind this. And I_ will _find out why." He pinned Inuyasha with a baleful look. "More precisely,_ you _will find out why, as I originally ordered."_

_Inuyasha's teeth clenched almost painfully. "How do you expect me to find something that isn't there?" His eyes glinted. "Or are you telling me I can leave Musashi and search through Kai and Shinano if I need to?"_

_"You know the answer to that, half-breed."_

_"Then don't expect different results, asshole."_

_Sesshōmaru fully faced the hanyō and took a deliberate step forward. "You will not leave the borders of Musashi without my express orders." The words were clipped, and spoken so low that his voice was a near-hiss. Sesshōmaru was on the verge of discomposure, and Inuyasha would have laughed if he weren't so pissed. "You will return immediately and you will not fail again."_

_Spine stiffening, Inuyasha stepped closer to Sesshōmaru and bared a fang. "You need to pull your head out of your ass and clean the shit out of your ears. How many times do I have to tell you? All I'm going to find in Musashi is what I've already found: halfwit yōkai marauders with less than a brain between them." A memory—fleeting but vivid—flashed through his mind: frowning grey eyes, long dark hair, a strange and arresting scent. His upper lip curled in a sneer, and without thinking he added, "That and a useless miko."_

_Sesshōmaru's eyes narrowed. "A what?"_

_Damn. He'd spoken the words almost as soon as he'd thought them. Irritated by the slip, Inuyasha turned his head to the side and crossed his arms over his chest. "Nothing important. I came across a miko around that human village to the southwest, near the forest. Nothing but a pain in the ass."_

_"I had not heard of a miko in that region. Why was it not reported?"_

_A careless shrug. "Last I checked there weren't any." It had been a couple decades since he last made the rounds, checking in on Musashi's human governors and village leaders (but damned if he'd tell The Asshole that). One of them would have reported something as significant as a miko moving into a local village, if only for the bragging rights that came with a miko's spiritual power. Though come to think of it, most of the village leaders who'd known him were probably dead by now. Meaning he'd have to check in on their successors soon, make an appearance, reestablish authority. Make sure they remembered who really governed._ Damn. Humans are too short-lived _._

 _Sesshōmaru stared at his half-brother, features settling into a mask of derision. "Tch. You find a miko near your forest, of whom you had no prior knowledge, and you claim to have found 'nothing important'?_ Fool _."_

_"Hey! It's—"_

_"Only an imbecile could think that insignificant information."_

_The words were a flippant taunt, but the tone was something else altogether: a reprimand, a reproof. The tone more than the words made Inuyasha's entire body tense with anger. He raised his left hand and flexed his fingers, claws poised menacingly; his right hand came to rest on the shabby hilt of a sword sheathed in a black scabbard at his side. "Want to say that a little closer, asshole?"_

_"Explain yourself." Sesshōmaru's voice was sharp as a knifepoint. "What of this miko?"_

_Inuyasha's hand tightened around his sword hilt, anger licking at his insides like fire, the tendons in his neck straining with the effort to control himself. Fifty years, and he still couldn't stomach The Asshole's orders. The gods forbid it take another fifty before their task was complete. He briefly considered leaving—simply telling The Asshole where he could shove his orders before walking right out—but tempting as the option was, and momentarily satisfying as it would definitely be, it would only prolong the inevitable. Sooner or later he'd just have to come back. For now, he and Sesshōmaru were stuck with each other._

_The old man had made sure of that._

_Growling low, Inuyasha made a conscious effort to relax his muscles, though his hand still convulsively gripped his sword. "Ain't much to tell. She interrupted me on a hunt. The yōkai I was tracking must've picked up on her scent, because it attacked almost as soon as she showed up. The bitch would've been ripped apart if I hadn't stepped in."_

An arm braced against his chest. A blinding, heavy light smothering him, bleaching out all sensation, forcing up panic like bile _._

 _Inuyasha paused, unsure of just how much to divulge. At the time, the whole encounter had seemed—and in some ways still_ did _seem—merely irritating, a bothersome yet trifling interruption in his day. Even the bitch's show of power hadn't phased him much after the initial shockwave of it, the passing adrenaline it had triggered. Mikos weren't exactly abundant, but they weren't exactly rare either. Why waste thought and energy on a backwater miko?_

 _But if that's all it really was, why did he feel so reluctant to talk about it? To report the odd flash of power he'd seen from the girl? Something in him—something visceral, inchoate, impossible to pin down—clamored at him to keep his mouth shut. Especially in front of The Asshole. And_ especially _when The Asshole was acting like_ this _. With each passing moment, his reluctance grew stronger. And Inuyasha had never been one to ignore his instincts._

_But he would catch all kinds of shit later if Sesshōmaru found out he'd withheld any information._

_Then again, it might be worth it, just to piss the bastard off. He'd spent the past fifty years jumping on The Asshole's say-so, and he'd never felt more fed up with it._

_"And?" The knife-edge of Sesshōmaru's voice cut through his thoughts._

_To hell with it. He'd trust his instincts ten times over before he trusted The Asshole. "And nothing. I saved her ass, took out the yōkai, and sent her back to her village. After that I left the area to report here."_

_"And you noticed nothing abnormal about this woman? She held no trace of Naraku's scent, no sign of his yōki?"_

_"Don't you think if she had, I would've said as much already? Or for that matter, killed her on the spot?"_

_A pronounced scoff. "You do not seem capable of thinking or acting tactically." Yet again, Sesshōmaru's words did not match his tone. The sharp edge in his voice was lessening, replaced with something cautious, considering. His tone was distant and preoccupied when he continued, "And you detected nothing else in the area?"_

_"For the last time,_ no _."_

_"You were thorough?"_

_"Yes."_

_"You are certain?"_

_His irritated growl was answer enough, as far as he was concerned._

_Sesshōmaru was turning his back to the hanyō before the sound had even finished, his gaze appearing to settle on the window. The Demon Lord's attention was obviously more inward than outward, the complete stillness of his body speaking to the remoteness of his thoughts. Somewhat startled by his palpable withdrawal from the conversation, Inuyasha watched him carefully._

_"A miko," the Demon Lord reiterated quietly. "Hn. It could be..." He paused. Seemed almost to hesitate. "This woman. You said you found her in southwest Musashi. Near your forest."_

_Tired of repeating himself, Inuyasha merely nodded at the Demon Lord's back. Sesshōmaru seemed to accept the silence as confirmation, because he continued, "And it is in that region that our border has been most compromised."_

_Inuyasha felt his right ear twitch involuntarily. Something about The Asshole was... off. He should have sounded angry about the attempts on their territory; instead he sounded thoughtful, calculating, almost..._

_Inuyasha couldn't be positive, but The Asshole sounded almost_ pleased _. The impatience and irritation of only moments before had melted away, replaced with that cool calculation. Underpinning the calculation, something shrewd._

_"Since there is no evidence," Sesshōmaru said, "to suggest that the miko is a servant or associate of Naraku's, we may safely assume she is not, for the time being. If that is the case—"_

_Sesshōmaru turned to face Inuyasha, and Inuyasha knew for sure: The Asshole_ was _pleased. Cautiously pleased, maybe, but still pleased, if the smug set of his mouth was anything to go by. But what the hell did he have to be pleased about?_

_It was that faint smugness, and the way he now regarded Inuyasha—like a pawn on a fucking shogi board—that told the hanyō he was missing something. Despite the omission of information—despite not having the whole picture—The Asshole was still piecing something together, something that pleased him. And he had no clue what it could be._

_Inuyasha had never had any patience for being left in the dark._

_Frowning, Inuyasha barked, "All right, out with it. Where the hell are you going with this? You think this miko has something to do with our yōkai problem?"_

_"Nothing so sinister. But she may prove to be of use."_

_An echo rang through Inuyasha's mind, swift as quicksilver._ You're pretty rude for someone who owes me his life. I'm the only reason you're still walking around with your head.

 _His ear twitched again, more violently this time. "Keh! You're out of your mind. That bitch was weak. She was almost taken out by a_ bug _. She'd be about as useful as a broken ankle."_

 _"Leave the tactical decisions to your superiors,_ little brother _. The wench may be useful for more than combat. Victory in war is not achieved by wasting what may be of use."_

 _Inuyasha couldn't help the embittered sneer that twisted his expression. "That's your fucking polestar for everything, isn't it?_ What's of use _."_

 _Sesshōmaru looked almost amused. "It is the_ only _guide. The only true measure of value."_

_Silence descended. They stood facing one another, each considering the other. Finally, the Demon Lord spoke, indisputable authority in his tone. "You will return to Musashi. You will keep a watch on this miko. Take note of everything—her movements, those with whom she associates, any use of her miko powers. You will have eyes on her at all times, and you will report back to me when summoned."_

_Every muscle in Inuyasha's body seemed to stiffen simultaneously. "You can't be serious."_

_"I assure you, I am."_

_"No way. Send one of your lackeys. Fuck, send the toad man to do it, what else is he good for?"_

_"I am sending you."_

_"And why the fuck should I go?"_

_"Because I gave you an order."_

_"Not good enough."_

_Sesshōmaru raised his hand—a sickening green emanated from his claws. "Good enough for the likes of you, cur."_

_Inuyasha shifted his stance to better expose the sword at his side. "I don't think so. Why does that miko matter? I told you, she didn't bear Naraku's scent—"_

_Sesshōmaru moved. Inuyasha barely managed to dodge in time, a jet of venomous acid shooting past his shoulder. He leapt a few yards to the side and drew his sword, pointing it at the Demon Lord. A pool of green liquid bubbled where he'd stood seconds before, burning through the hardwood floor._

_A warning, a taunt._

_Sesshōmaru's arm was still extended from his venom strike. "Do not question my orders, half-breed. All you need know is that I wish for the miko to be watched."_

_The sword—untransformed, Inuyasha noted with a silent curse—almost shook in his hands, he was so furious, his control over his rage fast slipping. "What's the fucking point?! You're intentionally misdirecting me, sending me on useless errands when I could be hunting Naraku! By rights I should be in Kai, tracking the bastard down. We both know I'd be more effective there than the fuckers you've got—"_

_"Rights? You dare speak of_ rights _?" Another swift movement, another stream of acid arcing through the air. Inuyasha dodged again, snarling loudly. "Apart from that laughable scrap of metal in your hand, Musashi is your only right." A smile—spiteful and bitter, nothing like a smile—twisted the Demon Lord's mouth. "Father made sure of it. Musashi is your inheritance, little brother. Now you may rot in it."_

 _"I fucking knew it! You don't care about bringing Naraku down, you only care about_ punishing _me. You can't stand that Father left—"_

_"Silence." Suddenly, a whip formed in the air around Sesshōmaru, crackling with the power of his yōki and poised to strike. "Do not presume to know my reasons for anything." With a twitch of his wrist, he snapped the whip towards Inuyasha. Its tip curled and cracked inches from his face before recoiling back. Inuyasha didn't even flinch; his snarling only grew louder._

_"You said it yourself, mongrel: I care only for that which is useful. You are most useful to me in Musashi, and as of now you are most useful watching that miko."_

_"But why?! What does she have to do with Naraku? What possible use could she—"_

_"_ I will not repeat myself _." Another crack of the whip._

_Had his sword transformed when it was drawn, Inuyasha would have cleaved Sesshōmaru's skull in two. His hands gripped the sword hilt, willing it to change shape, to transform into its deadly counterpart. He could feel the churning of his yōkai blood, the fraying of his tenuous control. He stepped forward, raised his sword._

_Sesshōmaru twitched the end of his whip._

_A tense, expectant silence._

_Then another snarl, a rasping "Keh!" and the snick of a sword hilt meeting its sheath._

_"Fuck this. Find someone else to take your shit. I'm done." Inuyasha walked to the door, spine rigid and head upright._

_He was almost through it, almost out, when Sesshōmaru's voice rang after him. "If you leave, do not imagine I will allow you to interfere with my search for Naraku. If I catch wind of you hunting him, I will personally end you."_

_Inuyasha stopped, but didn't turn. "Go ahead and try it. I'll slice you open and feed your entrails to the buzzards with both hands."_

_"We both know how empty that threat is, little brother."_

_Inuyasha went through the door and took a few steps down the hall when The Asshole's voice sounded again. "You know Father's dying wish. You may choose not to honor it, but I will not allow you to work against it. Leave now, but you forfeit Musashi and revenge against Naraku if you do."_

_Inuyasha stopped. After a moment, his head bowed, his bangs shadowing his face. His fingers fisted so tightly that his claws punctured the skin of his palms. Blood dribbled between his clenched fingers._

_"Fine." More snarl than word, more animal than human, his voice was low and raw with emotion. "I'll watch the miko."_

_Those few words were all he could manage. With a mumbled curse, he moved, ran out of the castle with all the speed he could muster._

_It wasn't fast enough to escape Sesshōmaru's parting words._

_"Good. Then you may yet be of use."_

**::**

Scowling, and suppressing the urge to slice into another particularly tall tree just for the sake of watching it fall, Inuyasha instead leapt into its foliage and settled on a branch, one leg curled beneath him, the other dangling in the air. He folded his arms in the voluminous sleeves of his suikan, and scowled at the forest around him. 

So here he was, like a godsdamned moron. For nearly a month now he'd been skulking around the forest, always keeping within visual distance of the village.

In other circumstances, he _might_ have been fine with this assignment. Might have even enjoyed it. He liked this forest, had liked it since he'd first stepped into it after inheriting Musashi.  Its dense trees and ancient, solemn stillness calmed his mind and soothed the urgency of his thoughts. He made an effort to come here when he could—when Naraku's trail went stale, or when The Asshole was too busy to throw around orders. More and more these days, coming to his forest felt like the only time he could breathe freely.

But under _these_ circumstances? When His Most Imperious Asshole of the Western Lands was treating him like a personal errand boy? When he'd been told he wasn't _allowed_ to leave the forest, or for that matter travel outside hearing and smelling distance of the human village?  Now he wanted to tear every single tree up by its roots. Now the forest rankled him, mocked him. He felt confined. Hobbled.   

And if that weren't bad enough, the entire fucking point of his confinement was turning out to be a bust: he'd barely even seen the miko bitch. In the month he'd been here, _waiting_ , it had taken three weeks before she even left the village walls, and that was only for a few minutes while she and an old hag collected water from the river.

Oh yeah, this was going _great_. A month of observation and he'd seen her walk in a straight line and carry a water jug. She was going to be _real_ useful against Naraku: she could _sprinkle_ the bastard.

More than once he'd seriously considered leaving Musashi altogether—screw The Asshole and his ultimatums, screw the wench who'd put him in this position, screw the old man's expectations—and had even gone so far as to leave the borders of the forest. But something always stopped him, always brought him back to that stupid little village. An insistent tug on his conscience, the nagging whisper (more gut instinct than coherent thought) that maybe, despite appearances, the miko _could_ be useful, that maybe The Asshole was onto something.

Except the damn bitch wouldn't leave the village walls. How the fuck could he justify staying here and—his scowl grew darker— _following orders_ when he had nothing to show for it? This was getting him no closer to finding Naraku, and every day that bastard lived was like another day of swallowing burning coals.

He had to _do_ _something_.

Initially, he'd thought maybe she didn't leave the village because she feared another demon attack. So he'd deliberately cleared the forest of yōkai—or most of it, anyway—in the hopes that once the villagers noticed their conspicuous absence, maybe the wench would finally venture out. But she never appeared, and Inuyasha was hard put not to simply stomp into the village and drag her out by her hair.   

Sure, if he climbed some of the taller trees on the village perimeter, he could see over the walls and occasionally catch glimpses of her; but those glimpses didn't offer anything valuable. When she left her hut—which was rare, especially in the first few weeks—she didn't seem to do anything worth observing. She washed laundry, brought in firewood, sorted herbal plants outside the hut she seemed to share with that old hag. Mostly she was alone. He'd never seen her exchange more than a quick word with any of the villagers. She really only talked to the old woman.

Even as he cursed the utter worthlessness of these details, that inner part of him—the one that kept him from abandoning the forest entirely—wouldn't let go of the miko's apparent isolation. It would come to mind randomly, prick at the edges of his thoughts. It was suspicious, that kind of isolation. Strange for a human, especially one who lived in a relatively small village. He'd bet his life that everyone in that village knew everyone else from birth until death. Why would a young woman—and a miko, at that—be so removed from her neighbors? Was the bitch just shy?

_I'm the only reason you're still walking around with your head._

He snorted. Highly fucking unlikely.

The fact was, he wasn't getting anywhere. An entire damn month had passed, and he'd only picked up a few insignificant scraps of information. He needed something more substantial, and _soon_.

Otherwise he might just shred the whole forest and be done with it.

 

* * *

 

Then one day, when his thoughts were preoccupied—wandering inexorably in the past—she appeared. Just walked right out of the village, the old woman following behind.  

He almost fell off the branch he'd been lying on.

 _Of course_ she’d finally come out when he was more distracted than he’d been in weeks. Lucky he’d been staring in the direction of the village out of habit, or he might have missed her entirely.  

He was perched in a tall tree near the village gate, whose branches overshadowed the path leading towards the river and the fields. The miko and the old woman started down this path, both silent. Inuyasha sat up and leaned forward, gathering his feet beneath him in a ready crouch. Then leaping into a neighboring tree, he followed the two women as they travelled the village path.

That’s when he noticed something he’d missed in his distraction: they were each carrying a bow and a quiver full of arrows. He’d never seen them carry weapons before, inside or outside of the village. They otherwise appeared normal, each dressed in vaguely shabby work kimonos—the miko's green and white, the hag's brown and red—and each had their hair pulled back in long braids. If it weren't for the bow and arrows, he'd think they were off to work in the fields.

Misgiving bloomed in his mind, a faint uneasiness that only increased when the old woman placed a hand on the miko’s arm and guided her off the path. They wove, apparently aimlessly, between the trees. He followed behind them, bounding silently through the forest canopy.

They didn’t go far—maybe a hundred yards away from the path. They stopped when they reached a clearing: a wide grassy circle of open space between the trees. Inuyasha was familiar with it, had run through it once or twice before on his rounds through the forest. It wasn’t far from the river—he could hear and smell running water in the distance.

The old woman turned to the miko. “I have explained the proper grip and stance for the bow, but explanation and practice are two very different things. The only true way to learn is to practice.”

She gestured her wrinkled hand towards a tree that stood about fifty feet away from them. “Aim for the trunk and shoot.”

The expression on the miko’s face was dubious at best. “Kaede,” she said quietly, and the sound of her voice sent an unexpected—and _unwelcome_ —shiver through Inuyasha’s ears. He flattened them against his head and scowled. “Are you sure about this? I don’t see how this will help me.”

“People with spiritual powers often utilize external objects as conduits to harness and control that power. Monks, for example, use sutras and charms to accomplish this. Mikos often use weapons such as a bow and arrow.” The old hag paused, eying the young woman before her. “Doing so may aid you as well.” Her voice turned slightly dry. “And since I lack a monk’s sutras, we will use the bow.”

“But none of the other techniques I’ve learned have really helped. Why should this?”

Inuyasha’s misgiving wormed even further into his brain. Was she really still learning _controlling techniques_? That didn’t make any sense: mikos received training in their childhood, as soon as they were old enough to work. She should have been well versed in controlling techniques by now. And besides, wasn’t this the same bitch who had blasted a yōkai with a single hand, right in front of him?

The wrinkled hag’s voice interrupted his thoughts. “I do not know if it will. It may provide the focus you need, and again it may not. At the very least, it will give you another method of defending yourself against attack. That in itself—simply having another means of self-defense—may be enough to help subdue your power.”

_Subdue? What the fuck?_

These bitches were speaking in tongues, he was sure of it. None of this made any sense.

“Now,” creaked that old voice, “aim your bow and shoot.”

The young woman stared at her elder for a moment longer, uncertainty written plainly across her face. Then she sighed, slid her bow off her shoulder, pulled an arrow from the quiver at her back, and began to take aim.

“Your stance is too wide,” barked the old woman, “bring your feet closer together. Imagine the length of your arrow between them—that is as wide as your stance should be.”

The miko adjusted her footing, and the old woman nodded in satisfaction. “Good. Now, relax your grip a little. Too much pressure and your accuracy will suffer. You need only grip the bow enough to hold it steady.”

The young woman sighed again, and seemed to work on relaxing her grip. She held the bow in her left hand, its wood settled in the crook between her extended thumb and forefinger, her remaining three fingers wrapped firmly around the wood. With her right hand, she placed her arrow between left thumb and forefinger until they held the arrow in place against the bow. Then her right hand moved back to grip the bowstring and the arrow’s fletching.

Grip now secure, she raised the bow until the arrow was parallel with her cheek. She pulled bowstring and arrow back slowly, the trembling in her arms noticeable even from where Inuyasha watched. 

“Straighten your elbow, child. Use your thumb to guide the arrow.”

The miko nodded and drew a deep breath. Then she fired.

The arrow arced high up in the air and far, far to the right of her target. It fell to the ground yards away from the tree trunk she’d been aiming at.

That wasn’t the only thing that had gone flying: when the bowstring released, its recoil jerked the bow out of the miko’s hands and it went sailing to the ground with a clatter.

For the second time that day, Inuyasha nearly fell out of his tree.

_This cannot be the same bitch._

He probably should have been irritated that Sesshōmaru's hunch was looking more and more like a waste of time. Instead, he felt an undeniable twinge of smug satisfaction. _Owe you my life, huh? Tell it to that tree._

He couldn’t quite stop the wide grin that stretched his mouth, revealing his fangs. He felt a strange, fluttering lightness in his stomach, spreading up through his chest, and it took him a moment to place the feeling: amusement. Genuine amusement. 

This forest really was driving him crazy.

Still, he doubted if even The Asshole could’ve witnessed that without cracking a grin. The miko’s shot was laughable enough, but the absolute consternation on her face—the bright, furious blush that painted her cheeks, the dismayed flash of grey eyes—was enough to widen his grin. 

The old hag seemed to be in the same predicament. Poorly-concealed amusement laced her voice when she said, “Try again.”

This time the miko’s sigh was loud and decidedly aggravated—almost more growl than exhale. She leaned down and picked up her bow.

Just as she was setting another arrow, a high childish voice cried out in the distance, “Kaede-sama! Kaede-sama!”

Inuyasha’s ears twitched at the sound, but he didn’t stop watching the two women in the clearing. He raised his chin and sniffed at the air—it was definitely a child, a young boy, and judging by the sound of his footfalls, he was moving haltingly down the forest path behind them.

“Kaede-sama! Where are you, Kaede-sama? Mama needs you!”

Both women started at the sound of the child’s voice. The old one frowned deeply, her tone cautious when she said, “That sounds like Kawaguchi-san’s eldest child, does it not?”

The miko nodded, curiosity and concern apparent in her expression as she stared in the direction of the forest path. Inuyasha noticed her grip tighten on the bow she held, and a moment later her scent shifted, took on notes of anxiety.

“Kaede,” she said, “you don’t think… Kawaguchi-san’s baby…?”

The old woman’s frown deepened, and there was definite worry in the set of her mouth. She started walking rapidly towards the path. “Stay here. Keep practicing.”

“Wait!” The miko started following after her. “I’ll come too! I can help!”

“No Kagome.” The words were spoken with gentle authority. The old lady stopped long enough to glance back over her shoulder. “You must stay. Continue practicing until I return.” When the young woman opened her mouth to argue, the hag cut her off short. “I do not believe Kawaguchi-san will be… receptive to your help. Especially if it is an emergency. It is best that I go alone.”

That had the miko at a loss. Her mouth snapped shut. Her gaze skittered off to the side and her shoulders slumped just slightly. Finally, she nodded.

Apparently that’s all the old woman had been waiting for, because she immediately continued walking. “Stay put. Do not leave this spot. And for the love of heaven, do not—”

“I _know_ , Kaede.”

Inuyasha’s eyebrows shot up at the sharp tone.

She seemed to notice its sharpness, too, because she repeated more softly, “I know. I’ll be fine. Go.”

The old woman uttered a quick “hmm” of acknowledgment and then was gone, disappearing between the trees.

Silence filled the clearing. Inuyasha’s ears flicked back to follow the progress of the old woman. He heard the shuffle of her feet receding into the forest; after another minute or two, he heard that high-pitched child’s voice, followed by the old hag’s. He couldn’t pick up all their words—just bits and pieces like "the baby" and "stop coughing"—but he heard the retreating, indistinct murmur of their speech as they both hurried back towards the village.

Gradually, Inuyasha’s attention drifted back to the miko still in the clearing. She had returned to practicing, aiming at the same tree she’d earlier failed to hit. Raising her bow to the level of her face, she drew back the string, inhaled slowly, and—

Her arrow travelled about ten feet before flopping to the ground.

At least this time she’d managed to hold onto her bow.

Despite himself, Inuyasha grinned again as the miko huffed, another blush sweeping across her face.

Shaking her head and grumbling under her breath—he distinctly heard the words “I’d prefer the sutra”—she retrieved the arrow from the ground, set it against her bow, and resumed her stance.

“You know,” she said loudly, eyes still fixed on her target, “it’s rude to stare.”        

Inuyasha went very, very still. His grin disappeared. 

_No. No way. She can’t possibly—_

She fired the arrow. This time it arced low to the ground and bounced off it once, twice, before rolling for a few feet and bumping against a rock. 

She’d turned to face his tree before the arrow’s first bounce off the ground. Bow still clutched in her left hand, face still flushed, she scowled up into the tree’s foliage and waited.

She wasn’t looking directly at him—her gaze was off to the left of where he crouched in the shadows of the leaves—but it was beyond obvious that she knew he was there. She obviously couldn’t see him, so… had she heard him? Had he been too loud? Given away his position? Or…

… or maybe she could sense his yōki? Trepidation crawled up his spine at the thought. Not many humans _or_ demons, even those with strong spiritual power, could sense yōki—demonic aura—like that. The auras of lower-level yōkai, sure, but not his or The Asshole’s. Strong yōkai knew how to mask their demonic aura, and doing so became automatic, second nature, as thoughtless an act as blinking or breathing. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had to consciously _try_ to mask his yōki.

It took a lot of spiritual or demonic power to sense yōki of that level.

His stomach muscles clenched unpleasantly. This bitch was a walking contradiction—one minute weaker than a novice, the next minute demonstrating powers that far exceeded those of an average, or even above-average, miko.

And apparently the wench had grown impatient at his lack of response. She huffed in irritation and propped her hands on her hips. “I _know_ you’re there.” 

Silence.

“Are you seriously just going to ignore me?”

He snorted—fuck yes he was. Was she stupid?

At his continued silence, her scowl deepened and she stomped closer to his tree. “I mean it!” she hissed, “come down here right now! You owe me an explanation!”

Was she seriously singing _that_ tune again? He growled, not caring a whit if she heard it. Hadn’t she gotten the point the _last_ time she’d claimed that he owed her? He owed nothing to anyone, ever, and he _especially_ didn't owe her. He thought he'd made that pretty clear the first time they'd met. And he distinctly remembered warning her not to mess with him again. Clearly the bitch _was_ stupid—extremely stupid.

Her eyes scanned the branches of the tree, seeking him out. When he still offered no response, she stomped her foot and raised her voice to a near-shout, “If you don’t come down here this instant, I’ll—I’ll—!”

His eyebrows shot up so high they disappeared beneath his bangs. Just what did she think she could do to him? _Talk_ at him until he dropped dead from exhaustion?

When she yet again received no answer, something flashed through her bright grey eyes, drawing his attention. They glittered like ice, those eyes, and yet sparked like hot embers.

Suddenly she was reaching for one of the arrows at her back. She set it against her bow and took aim up at the branches of the tree.

“I’m warning you right now,” she ground out, “come down before I _make_ you.”

He stayed still, eyes watching hers. His legs tensed, his bare toes digging into the bark of the tree, ready to leap.

More snapping flames flickered in those grey eyes, and then she fired.

The arrow shot up much too high, ricocheted off a branch near the top of the canopy, and went speeding in the opposite direction, disappearing between the trees on the other side of the clearing.

Complete and utter silence ensued.

Her arm was still raised, the bowstring still vibrating.

Neither of them moved.

And then he laughed.

A loud, bursting guffaw erupted from his throat before he could stop it, followed by a less loud but no less explosive one... and then he was laughing so much that he had to brace his hand against the tree branch to keep himself steady.

All the while she stared up into the tree, stunned silent.

The look on her face only fueled his amusement—it was equal parts embarrassed, furious, and shocked. She lowered the bow to her side, her grip going limp.

_She'll be useful, all right. She'll strike fear in the hearts of anyone standing a little to the left of her target._

Eventually, his laughter ebbed to breathless chuckles, and then he was grinning, immensely pleased by the well-deserved humbling he’d just witnessed.

In fact, speaking of what was _owed_ , he thought the wench was due for a little more humbling. She already knew he was there, so why the fuck not?

“You talk big," he called down to her, "but you sure can't back it up."

She still seemed speechless, but at the sound of his voice an angry frown tugged at her brows.

"So," he continued nonchalantly, "my options are come down, get shrieked at, or have an arrow shot _away_ from me? Yeah, you're _real_ terrifying.  Maybe if I’d been standing _behind_ you I’d be worried.”   

Her mouth dropped open. “That—”

“Next time you should try aiming in the opposite direction of the enemy—then you might actually hit something.”

“You—!”

“Better yet, leave the archery to someone who can manage to navigate a straight line.”

She growled, or at least what passed for a growl for a human. “You're one to talk. So I'm not an archer—at least I'm not a _coward_ who threatens those weaker than me."

Her arrow may have missed, but _that_ hit him squarely in the chest.

Even as outrage burned through his brain, something disquietingly like shame came along with it, forcing him to look away from her. He remembered with a twinge of discomfort their first encounter: his loss of temper and subsequent physical aggression with her. He hadn't intended to seriously hurt her—he'd simply wanted to shut her up, scare her away from him—but then, he'd never intended to speak with her in the first place. The moment she'd first opened her mouth and told him "no," he'd lost all control over that situation.

Scowling, he wrestled the shame down for the moment, refused to allow her to sense it in him. He looked back at her and snorted, "Feh! That's because there _ain't_ anyone weaker than you. Except maybe a blind, sickly, brain-addled _newborn_ , but even then—"

Her face had flushed an even brighter red, and she half-screamed at him, "Come down here and say that to my face!"

"Hmmm," he drawled, "I don't think so."

"Coward!"

"Hey! Listen bi—"

"You're a coward _and_ a stalker!" 

He paused, taken aback. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

She still couldn’t see him, hidden as he was in the foliage, but their "conversation" had given her a rough idea of his position. She glared in his general direction, eyes still roving for any visual sign of him. “I _know_ you’ve been following me. I know you’ve been out here in the forest, near the village. You have been for weeks, and I want to know why!”

Dammit. She _could_ sense his yōki.

Her eyes practically crackled, her dark bangs framing a face that showed a mixture of anger and confusion. 

“Why are you here? What do you want?”

He wondered briefly if their last encounter had made her frightened of him, if it was fear motivating this confrontation—but he didn't hear fear in her voice, nor did he smell it in her scent. He just smelled the spicy tang of anger. And scent never lied.

Again, his mouth opened before he gave it permission. “That’s none of your business, wench.”

“None of my...” Her eyes narrowed. “Of course it’s my business! It’s _me_ you’ve been following, isn’t it?”

“Keh! You don't know what you're talking about.”

“Oh really? Are you telling me that I just _imagined_ your presence outside the village? That I just _imagined_ you trailing behind me every time I—”

Alarmed, and thoroughly irritated by her perception, he cut her off, “You listen about as well as you use a bow. Who said I was here for _you_?”

That seemed to do the trick. She had opened her mouth to deliver another comeback, but at his words, she faltered. "I... you mean... you mean you're _not_?"      

"Me, here for you? _Please_. You're a vain bitch, aren't you?"

She didn't react to his bait as he expected she would. Instead she hesitated, the anger in her scent thinning. "Then... then what are you here for?"

He snorted loudly. "Like I said, none of your business."

"But—"

How many times and in how many different ways did he have to say "none of your business" before it finally stuck? He let out an exasperated growl. "Look bitch. This is _my_ forest, understand? It's been my forest since long before you were born, and it will be long after you're dead. What makes you think I owe you an explanation for anything I do in it?"

Her eyes widened, and her mouth formed a surprised little "o." Unwittingly, he took note of its shape—then he jerked his head to the side, irritated with his wandering attention.

There was a moment of silence. And then she spoke again, a quiet whisper, more to herself than to him.

"So it _was_ you, from the stories." 

That brought his attention back. "What?"

She was looking away now, gaze carefully averted. His eyes lingered on her profile for a moment, the long rope of her braid falling down her back.

He opened his mouth—about to ask her just what in the hell she was babbling about now— when he heard faintly in the distance the creaking of old joints and a shuffling gait. His nose picked up the scent of leathery skin and medicinal herbs.

"You'd better get back to practicing. Your keeper is on her way."

The young woman glanced back in his direction, startled. Something strange—embarrassment?—flashed across her face. It was followed by an equally strange shift in her scent. His nose twitched, zeroing in on the smell of her. He noticed dimly what he'd noticed the first time he'd met her: the warm undertone to her scent, the unique musk it carried, the earthy, floral notes... completely unlike any scent he'd ever smelled.

Why the fuck did she smell like that, anyway?

The woman opened her mouth to speak. He cut her off.

"Try to hit something this time, will you?"

He left before she could respond, leaping through the trees towards the river. He knew she'd sense his departure. He also knew he shouldn't be letting her out of his sight right now, not when she was finally out in the open and he had the chance to gather real information. He knew The Asshole would skin him alive if he ever found out Inuyasha had intentionally shirked his orders. 

He really didn't give a fuck about any of that, though. He'd had quite enough for one day: there was more than enough information to digest, and he didn't want any more until he'd had time to think. Right now his thoughts were tangled and uncertain.

Well, all except for one: The Asshole might have actually been onto something.

The wench _could_ be useful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *lies facedown on the floor*
> 
> This chapter was SO HARD to write—especially that scene between Inuyasha and Sesshōmaru. I rewrote that three times. All told, this chapter took me over a month to finish (why am I so slooooooow, augh.) 
> 
> Anyway, for those who may have been confused: Musashi, Kai, and Shinano were all states/provinces in feudal Japan, each ruled by their own daimyo (lords). In this story, though, Sesshōmaru and Inuyasha rule all three of them as part of their territory, and the human lords are subordinate to them. I tried to make that as clear as possible in the story, but let me know if it was still confusing and I'll try to tweak it.
> 
> Thanks so much for reading! Please let me know what you think!
> 
> (P.S. Brownie points to whoever catches the Firefly-inspired line.)


	3. Scent

Kagome spent that evening alone. After their dinner of millet and vegetables, Kaede left to monitor the Kawaguchi newborn, a frown deepening the lines around her eyes and mouth as she left the hut. After examining the child—Shinju, she'd been named—earlier that afternoon, Kaede suspected the baby simply suffered from colic, though her persistent cough and mild fever troubled the old healer enough that she wanted to further observe Shinju. Kagome didn't know how long Kaede would be gone, but she was grateful for the solitude. It gave her a chance to think without interruption.

As she sat staring into the hearth fire, her mind would not stop churning over her conversation with Inuyasha. He hadn't really answered her questions—had, in fact, evaded every one and left her with far _more_ questions—and yet something about that strange confrontation in the forest had set her at ease, loosened the knot of anxiety she'd felt from the moment she first sensed his presence at the river.

He'd said he wasn't here for _her_... which presumably meant he wasn't here for retribution, wasn't here to pay her back for their altercation of a month ago. She hadn't realized just how much that possibility worried her—how much her suspicion had festered the past several weeks, an omnipresent niggling fear in her belly—until she'd been left utterly alone with him in the forest. Utterly vulnerable. The longer she'd stood there, pretending he wasn't in the trees _watching_ her, the stronger she felt his presence: a tangible, pulsing, _overwhelming_ sensation, like a river's current rushing down the length of her spine. Something inside her gave way to that rushing onslaught, and before she could think about it she was calling out to him, challenging him.

She wasn't exactly sure what she'd expected from him, but his response surprised her. The whole encounter _still_ surprised her. He'd ignored her, he'd _laughed_ , he'd taunted... but he hadn't done anything else. No attacks. No attempts at intimidation. No real aggression. Not even real heat behind his insults. She'd screamed at him, pelted him with her month-long anxiety, called him a coward—much worse than what she'd done a month ago—and he'd simply thrown the words right back, all while hidden from sight. Not once did he show himself. That was a power play on his part—she'd demanded he come down, and he'd flaunted his control by denying her even the tiniest glimpse—and yet it had been oddly reassuring. 

Then he'd just _left_ , the pulse of his presence disappearing into the forest.       

The whole thing had been frustrating, and aggravating, and... a huge relief. If he'd wanted to hurt her, he'd had the perfect opportunity and he'd _just left_. 

Whatever his purpose here—whatever his strange, prolonged interest in the village—it didn't seem to involve her. He'd made that pretty clear.

Frowning, Kagome fed another log to the fire.

But then, why had he followed her whenever she left the village? Why watch her at the river, or practicing archery? She certainly hadn't imagined his presence. He claimed he was not here for her, yet he watched her. What interest could he possibly have in her? Unless... unless maybe it _wasn't_ her. Perhaps he'd tracked _all_ the villagers who left the walls, watched all their movements?

No, that seemed even more far-fetched. It was reasonable, maybe, to keep track of someone who had shown unnatural and potentially threatening powers; but she could see no point in his watching the entire village.

Kagome sighed deeply, frustration settling over her shoulders like a garment. Too many questions and uncertainties. Too much doubt. She didn't know what to make of the hanyō and his persistent presence. Suddenly the familiar, reliable figure of her childhood was entirely _unfamiliar_ ; a new and unpredictable entity that deeply unsettled her. And this irked her more than anything else.

For most of her life, the hanyō had been a distant story, an imaginary symbol of protection who had populated her childhood fantasies. She'd recited the village story of the hanyō—guardian spirit of the forest—to herself over and over through the years. A charm, a protective spell, a cloak she could wrap herself in like a warm blanket on a cold night. Those stories had helped her survive in an inexplicable but very real way.

And then one day, years ago— _that_ day, she thought with an inward jolt, a searing chill in her bones that had her edging closer to the fire—she'd seen him. Briefly, no more than a quick flash of silver and red, a flicker of golden eyes disappearing into the trees. But she'd _seen_ him, and she'd immediately recognized him for who he was. With that recognition came a sharp thrill, a stab of excitement. He was _real_. Not just a shadowy figure in a story, but alive and tangible and _here_.                                          

And if she could _see_ him, maybe she could _talk_ to him, too.

So, in the years that followed, she'd watched for him. Not always, not consistently. But sometimes, when she found herself alone in the forest—gathering herbs, firewood, water, or just stealing away for a moment's reprieve—she looked for that flash of red and dart of silver. Usually she did not find it. In fact, months and entire seasons went by with no sign of him, long enough that she began to doubt herself... but then, without warning, he appeared again. Several times her persistence had been rewarded by a sight of him darting through foliage or standing in the shadows. And that's what it felt like, a _reward_ , a shivering thrill rushing through her body. Each sighting brought her back to the forest, _his_ forest, eager for another glimpse.

Until a month ago. Until the menacing glint in his eyes, the claws digging into her throat, the sneering disdain with which he'd watched her struggle for air. He was not the man from the stories, no longer the familiar guardian of her childhood fantasies. He was something else entirely, nothing like she'd imagined. Powerful, yes. But also volatile and tenebrous. Certainly not _safe_.

And yet, he didn't seem malicious either. Or at least his intentions weren't. Today had proven that, hadn't it?

With a helpless shake of her head, Kagome stood up and moved towards her pallet.

She didn't know what to make of his intentions, didn't know how to work him out. But she knew how to start trying.

 

* * *

 

Early the next morning, as the first fingers of dawn were just beginning to glow on the horizon and Kaede slept soundly on her pallet, Kagome slipped quietly out of the hut. The village was entirely still, hushed with sleep. Early-morning fog drifted in the air, muting everything around her. Only the occasional trill of a bird broke the pre-dawn silence. Kagome paused for a moment, shifted the cloth-covered basket she held in the crook of her elbow, and allowed her eyes to adjust to the gloom. Scanning the area around her and seeing that nothing stirred, she took a deep, bracing breath. Then, lifting her chin, she walked as silently as she could—in the opposite direction of the village gate.

The gate—twice as thick as the wall and just wide enough for two horse-carts to pass abreast of each other—was the only entrance built in the village wall. But it was not the only way into and out of the village. Kagome knew of at least two other ways, though there were likely more than that.

The village walls were still sturdy, but old, and each generation of village children made it their business to learn _exactly_ where the wood had cracked or rotted away enough for small nimble bodies to wiggle through the logs. Most of these gaps were too narrow even for the smallest child; but some of them could be squeezed through, if you were thin and determined enough. And Kagome knew of just such a gap.

There were two ground wells on opposite ends of the village, both sheltered by three-walled wooden shacks to protect them from the weather. The wells were rarely used because of the river’s proximity—the villagers preferred fresh water to the mineral tang of ground water—but they'd been built in the days of the demon sieges, and the headman insisted they be maintained. The well house nearest Kaede’s hut was built close to the village wall: roughly five feet of open space lay between the wall and the back of the well house. And it was here, hidden from view behind the well, where wood rot had caused a split that widened the gap between two logs. The gap was low in the wall, close to the ground, easy to miss if you weren’t looking for it.

But Kagome (and probably a handful of village children) knew it was there. If she laid down on her side, sucked in her stomach, and wiggled _just so_ , she could get through it. Not without discomfort and a splinter or two, but she could make it—she’d done it before. And now that she was expressly forbidden to leave the village without Kaede, this was her only means out. The only way to freedom.

She had no (well, not _much_ ) fear of getting caught: no one ever used the wells. Besides, she had about an hour before the villagers began stirring from their beds. Plenty of time to accomplish her task.

The trip took longer than usual—she kept stopping to listen, making sure no one was near—but Kagome finally saw the dark shadow of the well house looming before her out of the fog, nearly lost in the larger shadow cast by the village wall. She crept into the narrow alley behind the well and located the gap between the logs. First, she carefully pushed her basket through, scooting it off to the side so she wouldn’t accidentally overturn it. Then she lowered herself until she was lying on her right side, sucked in her stomach muscles as far as they’d go, and slowly began to crawl through the hole.

A few stinging scrapes, near-splinters, and well-placed shimmies later and she was on the other side, basket in hand and grin across her face. The forest spread out before her, dark and deep. Without hesitation she strode into the trees.    

It was much darker under the roof of the forest than it had been in the village. It took several minutes before her eyes adjusted enough to help her navigate around tree trunks. She didn’t need to rely much on eyesight, though. She could already feel it, that familiar pulsing awareness up and down her spine, the one she’d been feeling for a month. All she had to do was follow it. So she did.

It didn’t take long to find him, lounging in a tall tree close to the village. She couldn't see much, but she could discern the pale gleam of his hair among the shadows, the lazy drape of his body along a wide, low-hanging branch.   

She stood at the base of the tree, between two great spurs of its roots, gazing up at him, eyes lingering on the pale hair almost shining in the dark. Then she glanced down at the basket cradled by her arm. Moving aside its white cloth-covering, she reached inside and pulled out a single, plump persimmon. Lifting her arm above her head, she hurled the persimmon up into the shadows of the tree. 

The faintest _smack_ —a palm connecting with soft flesh—echoed through the dim air. A moment of silence.

"What the hell is this?"     

He sounded gruff, mildly curious, but not in the least surprised. He'd no doubt heard—and maybe even smelled—her approach long before she'd reached him.

She shrugged, not even sure if he was looking in her direction. "Some fruit. I thought you might be hungry."

A pause. Then a soft snort. "And why would you care about that?"

He didn't toss the fruit back down, though.

She shrugged again, a slight smile playing about the edges of her mouth despite herself. "It can't be easy foraging in the woods for all your meals. Surely even hanyō need to eat a decent breakfast?" 

There was a long pause, and Kagome would have thought him gone if she couldn't still sense him. She hesitated. "Hello? You still there?"

His voice cut through the fog. "'Even hanyō,' huh?"

There was a sour note in his tone, a hard edge to the words that surprised her. He shifted, the rustle of his robes audible in the quiet morning. "You got a problem with _half-breeds_ , human?"

The bitterness in his voice was palpable. Something quick and tremulous—remorse, maybe—constricted her chest for a moment, and she frowned. "Don't call yourself that. And of course I don't have a problem with hanyō. Why on earth should I?"

"Why should..." He growled, "Idiot. Nobody needs a _reason_ —being hanyō's reason enough."

"Not for me."

"Keh. Sure. Whatever you say."

Her eyes narrowed, irritation prickling in her belly. "Hanyō are fine. Rude, arrogant, antagonistic _stalkers_ , on the other hand..." 

Another growl, this one lower and harsher. "Wench! 'Antagonistic' my ass. _You're_ the one who sought _me_ out." He paused. "What the hell do you want, anyway?"

 _Here goes nothing_. "I want to talk to you."

"... talk?" He spoke slowly, his tone a mixture of sneering disbelief and suspicion.

She took a deep breath and nodded. "Why don't you come down here and help me eat the rest of this?" Without waiting for a reply, she turned and sat down, leaning her back against the tree trunk and curling her legs comfortably beneath her. She set her basket on the ground next to her hip, took out another persimmon, and bit into it with exaggerated gusto. Reinforcing the invitation to join her.

Before she could take a second bite, she heard an unintelligible mutter, the rustling murmur of cloth, a soft _thump_ —and there he was, mere feet away, hunkered on the ground next to her and glaring into her eyes with acute distrust. She noticed that he still held the persimmon she'd thrown to him, gripped loosely in an upturned palm.

"Just what are you up to?" His voice was a growl, a rumble. The dark slashes of his eyebrows slanted in a frown, hardening his features.

She twisted slightly, turning head and shoulders to face him more fully. "'Up to'? I don't know what you mean."

"Bull." He thrust his persimmon in her face. She startled and pulled back, her eyes briefly crossing as they tried to focus around the bright orange sphere overwhelming her field of vision.

"What in all the hells is _this_ about?" He twirled the fruit between his fingers. Her eyes were drawn to the quick flex of his wrist, how the sharp points of his claws looked almost graceful. "If you expect me to believe that you just wanted to _feed_ me, you really are an idiot." 

There was that prickling irritation again, slicing right through her preoccupation. With a loud sigh, she pushed at his wrist, knocking his hand away from her face. She glowered at him. "I _told_ you, I just want to talk to you."

He pulled his arm back, golden eyes narrowing. "About?"

To blurt it out or sidle up to it sideways? She wasn't sure which tack to take with him. She could see either approach backfiring badly.

Apparently she'd hesitated too long. After a muttered "tch," he growled, "Spit it out already, will ya?"

Bluntness it was, then.

With a tiny moue of annoyance, she said, "You dislike me, right?"

Bewilderment flashed across his face, frown disappearing as his eyebrows rose. "What?"

"Me. You don't like me." As if triggered by her own words, a whisper of memory ghosted through her thoughts. _I can't_ stand _the smell of you._

His bewilderment shifted to wariness as he replied, "Not even a little."

Her shoulders stiffened, and she felt a twinge of... _something_ in her stomach. "But that doesn't mean... you're not here to..."

"To what?"

"Well, I..." Before she could think to restrain it, her hand drifted to her throat, fingertips grazing across the pale skin where claws had once cut. "You're not here because of _me_ , right?"

For a moment, he seemed utterly lost. His brow wrinkled. His mouth opened in the same moment that his gaze dropped to her throat, eyes focusing on the protective stroking motions of her fingers. Awareness kindled his eyes, and his mouth abruptly closed. He stared at her for another moment—gaze flitting from her throat to her face—then jerked his head to the side with a scowl.

"That again?" he asked, voice brusque. "We've gone over this already. Weren't you listening? I'm not here for _you_." He watched her from the corner of his eye. "Believe me, if I wanted to hurt you, I'd have done it and been long gone by now."

Her fingers stilled against her neck. "You—you mean it?"

"Keh! Calling me a liar?"

For a long moment, she simply stared at him. She felt another strange twisting in her stomach—the sensation oddly pleasant, this time—and her body loosened, the tension seeping out of her shoulders.

She believed him. She didn’t really understand why, didn’t have much reason to, and yet she did. 

Suddenly, she felt unequal to holding his gaze. "Hmm," she hummed, nodding once and turning her attention back to her fruit. She could feel his stare on the side of her face as she began eating.

A long stretch of silence and half her persimmon later, she finally dared a sidelong peek at him. He still just crouched there, brows contracted in a puzzled frown, _staring_ at her. The gold of his eyes seemed oddly bright in the pre-dawn dark, and when she met his gaze, her breath caught and held.

She cleared her throat, tried to compose herself. "Aren't you going to eat?"

"Not hungry."

He still didn't put down the fruit.

“You sure? It’s ripe. Nice and juicy.”

If she could get him to stay a little longer—keep him talking—maybe she could start to make sense of him, begin to understand his presence here. And judging by his expression, he knew exactly what she was doing. His intent stare had shifted back into a suspicious glower at the faintly wheedling quality to her tone.

“What _else_ do you want?” he asked. 

Blinking at him, she tried to keep her expression as pleasantly blank as possible. "Else? I don't want anything el—"

His disdainful snort cut her off. "Don't even bother. Anyone ever tell you that you can't lie worth a damn?"

Blink, blink. "I'm not lying."

Golden eyes narrowed, sparking with skepticism. Amazing, Kagome thought, how they caught and reflected what little light there was. "Right. You really just wanted to _chat_. And _feed me_."

"That's right."

"Uh-huh." His fingers twirled the persimmon again, as if suggesting she was full of more than just fruit. "Then I guess we’re done here, aren’t we? You talked, you gave me the food. If you don’t got anything else to say then beat it, will ya?” He stood in a single fluid motion and turned away from her, clearly ready to retreat back into the forest canopy.

Consternation shot through her—he’d successfully called her bluff, dammit—and she scrambled to her feet, nearly overturning her basket in her hurry. “Wait!”

He’d stopped before she even spoke. He cast an appraising look at her over his shoulder. “That’s what I thought. What do you _really_ want?”

She sighed, vaguely disgusted with herself, but lifted her chin and met his gaze directly. “Yesterday, you said this was your forest, that it belonged to you. The village is built right on its edges. Does that mean the village belongs to you too?”

Surprise filtered into his expression. “What the hell makes you ask that?”

“And if it does,” she continued, refusing to be deterred by his non-answer, “is that why you’re here, why you’ve been hanging around the village? Are you here to protect it?”

For just the briefest moment, his expression completely changed, suspicion forgotten as some other emotion overwhelmed it. But before she could even attempt to interpret the new expression, his features smoothed out, went as carefully blank as she’d tried to keep hers. _Only he’s actually succeeding_.     

He half-turned towards her, shuttered and unreadable save for his eyes—they were sharp and penetrating as they locked with hers.

“Hn,” he muttered quietly. “You could say that." He paused for a long moment, then turned away, putting his back to her. "Yeah. I'm here to protect what's mine."

"Protect it from what?"

He didn't turn around. "If you're lucky, you'll never find out." He walked a few steps away, then leapt into a different tree, disappearing from view. "Get back to your village, girl. It's dangerous to wander through the forest alone."

She stared at the spot where he'd been standing, feeling both frustrated and pleased by the course of the conversation. He was as evasive as ever, but all things considered, she'd accomplished more than she'd anticipated: he'd answered her two biggest questions. _And incited several more in the process, but still..._

Bending down to retrieve her basket, she tossed out, "My name's Kagome, not 'girl'. And besides, I'm not alone. You're here."

The silence that followed was heavy with surprise. She heard the faintest whisper of rustling cloth and then, "Feh. Whatever."

She smiled and turned towards the village. "Goodbye, Inuyasha."

Though she didn't hear anything other than birdcalls as she made her way back to the village, she _felt_ him trailing behind her, following until she was safely inside the walls.

She wondered if he'd eaten the fruit.

 

* * *

 

Every morning for the next week, she brought him food—bowls of millet, rice porridge, miso soup with dried fish, sometimes fresh fruits and vegetables. And she didn't just bring the food and leave: she sat and ate with him. Some mornings she ate in silence, and some mornings she pestered him with questions.

Many, _many_ questions. 

And as the days wore on, Inuyasha had to make a point of reminding himself—because with each shared meal and each peaceful conversation, it was getting harder and harder to remember—that the woman probably had ulterior motives. He wouldn't let himself be stupid enough to believe that she just wanted to be _friends_. She had to have some other agenda. And he was only humoring her to find out exactly what that agenda _was_. Besides, it was a good opportunity to observe her up close, perhaps even earn enough trust to position himself as a confidant, someone to whom she could comfortably divulge information. Then maybe he could learn more about the extent of her powers.

That was the _only_ reason he indulged her strange insistence on spending time together.

He’d hardly finished the thought before he was snorting in disgust. There were few things he hated more than deceit, and self-deception was no better. Inuyasha knew himself well enough to know that he didn’t spend time with the miko just for the sake of his orders. If he’d merely wanted to observe her, he could have done so without speaking to her, let alone eating breakfast with her every morning. It wasn't necessary that he participate in this weird little ritual they'd formed. He could have ignored her, could have spurned her repeated invitations—could have, in other words, soundly disabused her of the idea that he would have anything to do with her—and still carried out his orders. In fact, he'd bet one of his arms that The Asshole would be less than pleased if he learned just how much direct contact Inuyasha had had with the girl. The Asshole would see it as weakness, dirtying his hands with something that should've been beneath him.

Inuyasha didn't have two fucks to rub together when it came to The Asshole's opinion, but he did like to be certain of himself. So why was it that every morning, without fail, all the miko had to do was smile up at him and gesture at her basket of food, and before he knew it she had him sitting next to her, eating and sometimes even _talking_ with her? And why was it that he found himself almost looking forward to it each morning? 

 _Well, her meals_ are _better than anything I could scrounge in the forest. And she smells so—_

He ruthlessly smothered that thought. He’d spent more time than he cared to admit parsing her scent, sifting through its nuances and undertones, trying to pin down what made it so intriguing. All he’d come up with so far was that she smelled incredibly _alive_ : fresh and clean, vibrant and soothing. Her scent was somehow both exuberant and serene at the same time.

 _Green_ , he decided. _She smells like green_.

For the most part, he’d done a decent job of reminding himself not to be taken in by her; not to be fooled by the gentleness of her eyes, or the way she smiled when she spoke to him, or the way she relaxed in his presence, as if he wasn't a yōkai threat, a half-breed blight.

He clenched his teeth and forced his thoughts away.

For the most part he'd kept his mouth shut, kept up a solid mental, if not physical, distance. But once or twice now, he'd forgotten himself, unconsciously dropped his guard—lulled into lazy incaution by that stupidly soothing scent. Just this morning her scent had so distracted him that his tongue loosened completely.

She’d brought rice balls stuffed with sweet bean paste, a rare treat. As they ate together under the shadows of a tree, swathed in grey darkness—almost the same grey as her eyes—she turned to him and said, “Have you heard any of the stories about you?”

He had just opened his mouth to bite into another rice ball. At her words, he stopped and blinked at her. “Stories? What stories?”

An amused smile lit her face. At the same moment, her scent shifted, took on brighter undertones. His nose twitched reflexively in response.

“The villagers," she said, "they've told tales about you for as long as I can remember. The first time I heard one, my mo—” she stopped suddenly. For a brief moment, her smile stiffened, and her eyes drifted to the ground between them. “That is,” she continued, “the elders, they like to tell the stories at celebrations. And sometimes the older children will tell them too, working in the fields or doing chores around the village.”

Her scent had changed again when she’d hesitated, lost some of the bright notes briefly animating it. The rapid changes in both her demeanor and scent confused him, and that confusion grated his nerves, made his voice gruff. "You're talking in circles, woman. _What_ stories?"

Seemingly unfazed by his attitude, she lifted her shoulders in a little shrug. "Stories about how you saved the village from being decimated by demons. How you established a pact with the very first headman. How you still dwell deep in the forest, protecting everything within it."

She raised her gaze, met his eyes. The corner of her mouth lifted. "The guardian spirit of the forest, they call you."

His eyes widened, eyebrows lifting high beneath his bangs. He could almost feel the internal cough and stutter of his thoughts slowing to a crawl. "They think I’m some _guardian spirit_?" 

“That’s what the stories say.” She paused, eyed him thoughtfully for a moment. “But truthfully? I don’t think most of the villagers really believe you exist.”

That shouldn’t have surprised him, given how long it had been since his last rounds through the province. Irritation shot through him nonetheless. “Tch. Seems your village has forgotten its history.” He often forgot just how short-lived humans really were—maybe it was about time to pay the headman a little visit.

A tiny, puzzled line formed between her eyebrows. “What do you mean?”

“Maybe they need reminding of that ‘pact’.”

She opened her mouth, but he cut her off. "And like hell I'm a _guardian spirit_. You make it sound like I'm some damn _shishi_ stuck to the side of a temple."

She watched him with that puzzled little frown for a while longer, obviously not satisfied with his deflection. She opened her mouth, then closed it. Then with a sigh and a shake of her head, her frown cleared, and that impish tilt returned to her mouth. "Well, you _do_ seem awfully stuck to the trees around here. I never see you away from one. You sure you’re not the forest _shishi_?"

He scoffed and lifted his chin. "Keh. That's because you only see me when I _allow_ you to. Puny human senses. You don't know the first thing about how to pay real attention."

"You're leaning against a tree _right now_."

Faster than a blink, he scowled and bolted up from his indolent slouch against the trunk of the tree. 

Grinning, she pulled her legs up against her chest and circled them with her arms. "Please don't take offense, O great Shishi-sama. Maybe if you reveal yourself, the villagers will start bringing you offerings."

This was the first time he’d heard such a teasing quality in her voice. He blinked, then snorted and poked a claw at the basket full of rice balls sitting on the ground between them. "S'at what this is supposed to be?"

"No, that's just breakfast. I'm talking _real_ offerings: fine saké, livestock..."

"If you don't stop yakking, I'm liable to treat _you_ as their offering and lose you somewhere in the middle of the forest."

Her brow crinkled in an exaggerated frown as she pretended to think that over. "Hmm. I don't think you could handle me as an offering."

He _knew_ she was trying to bait him, but damn him if it didn't work. He narrowed his eyes at her. "I could handle you, all right—I'd handle you right over a cliff."

"You say that now, but you'd regret it tomorrow when you didn't get any breakfast."

"Keh. Trust me, your breakfasts aren't good enough to inspire _regret_. Indigestion, maybe…"

 _That_ got her. Her grin slipped. A gratifying spark of annoyance glinted in her eyes, cutting through the amusement. "Oh? Well then. Maybe I shouldn't bother bringing them anymore."

The subtlest shift in her scent—a tiny acidic spike—had his nostrils flaring. _The bitch can dish it out, but she can’t take it, huh?_ Trying not to smirk, he shrugged and affected a bored tone. “Maybe you shouldn’t.”

“Maybe I won’t.”

“All right with me.”

“Fine then. You’re on your own, dog-man.”

“… _dog-man_?”

She glanced significantly at his ears. “Okay, dog- _boy_ ,” she corrected.

His eyebrow twitched. He opened his mouth to deliver a suitably scathing retort, but before he could, she’d reached out a hand and grasped one of his ears between her fingers.

He froze in the same instant that she started rubbing the captured ear, her forefinger moving in slow circles over the back while her thumb stroked along its inner edge. His other ear gave a violent flick as a shiver rippled up and down his spine. 

She only managed a few strokes, but it was long enough for heat to rise and spread along the bridge of his nose. Despite the distracting shivering sensation tingling along his spine, he was well aware what that heat meant: he was blushing.

Blushing! Like a little _girl_!

With a fierce growl (and _still blushing,_ godsdammit), he yanked his head away from her, ears flattening against his hair. Lips pulling back in what he hoped was an intimidating snarl, he rounded on her and—

And she was _laughing_. His brain stuttered to another halt as the snarl gradually slid off his face.

Lighthearted and genuine, filled with enjoyment rather than mockery, her short burst of laughter rang across the short space between them, made her eyes sparkle in the dim morning. The phantom sensation of her fingers still lingered on his ear: an innocent touch, one without malice or contempt. The most prominent mark of his half-breed lineage, and she'd touched it with curiosity—even a little delight—but not disgust. That touch seared its way down to his chest and settled there.

Weaving through her scent were those bright undertones from before—verdant, vaguely floral, almost like fruit—and that calmed his temper more than anything else could have, a balm to his strongest sense. He tried to hold onto his irritation, but it became an afterthought as he lifted his nose just slightly, trying to get a better whiff.

She was grinning again, eyes crinkled at the corners. "You’re right, you can’t be a _shishi_ —no _shishi_ has ears that cute.” 

 _Cute?!_ His upper lip pulled back in another, though milder, snarl. She waved her hand in a placating gesture, but her grin didn’t seem particularly contrite. “Then again, you did say you were here to protect what's yours, didn't you? So maybe you _are_ a guardian spirit in the making."

What was that other fragrance flirting along the edges of her scent, mingling with the floral? It nagged at the back of his mind even as he tried to focus on what she was saying. "More like a fucking exile in the making."

Her eyebrows raised. “Exile?”

“It ain’t like I’m here by choice.” Deep, dark and loamy, like soil, like rocks and roots and hidden places—tendrils of that other fragrance mixed with the _green_ of her predominant scent. But it was so minute, so peripheral, he almost thought he was imagining it. Could just be the residual scent of medicinal herbs.

“You… aren’t?”

“Hell no. But The Asshole can’t stand to admit he needs my help, even if that means risking fifty years of work.” Something about that darker tint in her scent struck him as… odd.

“The—who?” He vaguely registered that she sounded lost, even a little startled. “Someone needs your help? For what?”

Its traces were so faint, though, nearly overwhelmed by her primary scent signatures. It niggled at him, like an itch he couldn’t quite reach. “For the old man. The mission.” His ear flicked again. “To destroy—”

He stopped. Sucked in a breath. Stared at her.

She stared back, confusion written into every line of her face, from the oblique set of her brows to her downturned mouth.

Holy fuck. What in the all the hells was he doing?! He deserved to be hung for an idiot. _She_ was supposed to be confiding in _him_ , not the other way around! Just because he had no evidence of her being an enemy—or the pawn of one—didn’t mean she _wasn’t_. And yet here he was, spilling his guts to someone he’d only been on speaking terms with for a week. Someone with every indication of strong spiritual power. _That_ alone made her suspicious.

A slip of the tongue to the wrong person could give Naraku all the advantage he’d need.

FUCK.

Inuyasha shot to his feet, the movement surprising the miko enough that her whole body jerked in reaction. He kept his gaze fixed straight ahead of him when he barked, “Enough. Go back to your village. I’ve got better things to do than babysit a human.”

He hadn’t given her a chance to respond before darting away through the trees.

He’d spent the remainder of the morning sweeping through the forest, sniffing out and eliminating yōkai, checking for anything suspicious. He stayed close enough to the village to be alerted if anything strange happened, but far enough away to give him some reprieve from nosy mikos and their _damn scents_.

But the distance gave his thoughts no such reprieve.

 

* * *

 

The sun had risen over the horizon by the time Kagome returned to the village. A nervous thrill shot through her as she crawled back through the gap in the wall. She hadn’t meant to be out in the forest so long—she'd surely be noticed this late in the morning. Pausing for a moment behind the well house, she listened for any nearby movement; when she heard nothing, she took a deep breath and strode away from the well as casually as she could manage. She passed a couple villagers on her way to Kaede’s hut, and she was _sure_ they watched her, though they didn't appear to pay her any heed. She quickened her pace. _Cutting it a little too close, I think_.

Once at the hut, she pushed aside the reed mat at the doorway and took a step inside—and came to an immediate halt.

Kaede knelt before the hearth in the center of the room, just beginning to start the fire for breakfast. The percussive crack of rock against rock as she attempted to spark the tinder seemed particularly abrasive after the quiet of the forest.

"You've had an early start to the day," Kaede commented without looking up. _Crack. Crack._ "Usually I cannot wake you until well after breakfast." 

 _Cutting it very,_ very _close_ , Kagome amended with an internal wince. All week, she'd been careful to return to the village before Kaede woke up. Better that Kaede knew nothing about her early-morning absences. There was just no plausible justification for them, and even if Kagome _hadn't_ been leaving to meet a strange half-demon alone in the forest, Kaede would not approve of Kagome's leaving the village unescorted. The old woman may have thought the headman's restrictions too severe, but she expected Kagome to abide by them nonetheless. Kagome knew this, and also knew she could not lie to Kaede, at least not for very long. Omitting the truth seemed a much better option than bald-faced deception.

But she'd been careless this morning—completely distracted by Inuyasha and their surprisingly forthcoming conversation—and now bald-faced lying seemed her only recourse.

Schooling her features as best she could, Kagome smiled stiffly and moved to sit opposite Kaede at the fire. "Yes, it was startling to see the village before the sun rose. Who knew there was a dusk in the morning too?"

Kaede did not smile, though her eyes glinted with amusement when she said, "And what inspired your early rising?"

"Nothing really. I must have slept well last night."

"I am glad to hear it." _Crack. Crack._ "Where have you been off to?"

"Oh, nowhere. Heeding nature's call." A pause. "I also went by the well to wash my face."

 _Crack. Crack_. Kagome tried not to flinch at the grating sound, which was beginning to seem almost like an accusation. _Liar. Liar_.

"Indeed? And why, if I may ask, did these errands require that?" Kaede finally looked up and nodded towards the basket Kagome held in her lap, one eyebrow raised inquisitively.

_Oh no, how could I have forgotten—!_

"Um," Kagome faltered, "oh, this?" She surreptitiously tilted the basket towards her body so Kaede wouldn't see the few rice balls it still held. "Just some, uh, cloths. To wash my face."

 _Crack. Crack. Fshh_. The tinder finally caught a spark, and tiny flames began curling around the firewood. Kaede picked up the hand bellows they kept near the hearth and pumped air into the tinder, building up the flame. Once the fire had started in earnest, she set the hand bellows down and slowly eased herself off her knees, shifting into a more comfortable sitting position.

Once settled, Kaede eyed Kagome thoughtfully across the hearth. Her glance was keen, and Kagome wondered if this was truly the first morning Kaede had noticed her absence. The old woman's expression was probing in a way that made Kagome nervous.

Another moment's pause, and Kaede offered the girl a small smile. "Well then, child. Since you have had a restful night, I hope you are prepared for an industrious day."

Kagome nearly sighed with relief at the change in subject.

"We will continue your archery training this afternoon. Before that, however, I require your assistance in the village."

Kagome tilted her head in question.

"You heard of Hayashi-san's injury in the fields yesterday?" Surprised, Kagome gave a negative shake of her head, brows lowering in a concerned frown. She was further surprised when the normally-empathetic Kaede rolled her good eye: an exasperated appeal to the heavens for patience she clearly did not feel. "The boy was roughhousing with his friends in the vegetable fields and spooked a carthorse. It nearly trampled him."

At Kagome's gasp, Kaede simply clucked her tongue. "He is lucky under the circumstances. The horse broke the boy's foot and left some memorable bruises—I certainly hope he will remember them—but that is the extent of the damage."

Kagome understood Kaede's exasperation—Hayashi-san was only a few years younger than her, and he should've known better than to behave so recklessly—but she couldn't help grimacing in sympathy. A broken foot was a serious injury; it would lay him up for weeks, maybe even a few months depending on which bone was broken and how bad the break.

"I wrapped the foot with a poultice to control the swelling," Kaede continued, "but today I need to determine how severe the break is, and set the bone as best I can. Foot fractures are difficult. I pray it will heal properly." A moment of grim silence followed, in which both women offered up silent prayers. "I will likely be with Hayashi-san for most of the morning."

Kagome nodded, then asked, "What can I do to help?"

"I can handle Hayashi-san, but his injury comes at a bad time. The Kawaguchi infant's fever has spread to other children in the village. I had planned to see to them myself, but Hayashi-san needs me more." The old healer sighed. "I know this could be uncomfortable for you, Kagome, but..."

The girl was already shaking her head. "Don't worry about that. I want to help. What do you need?"

Some of the tenseness around Kaede's mouth eased. She seemed reassured by Kagome's quick acquiescence. "I do not think the fevers are severe, but the children should not go untreated. I need you to grind willow bark and fennel paste, enough to bring a bowl each to Kawaguchi-san, Miyamoto-san, Ueda-san, and Ishikawa-san."

Kagome grimaced again. "So many?"

Kaede nodded tiredly. "Aye. All their younglings have taken ill, and the mothers are troubled. When you bring them the remedy, be sure to explain its proper use—I told them yesterday evening to expect you today." Kagome hummed her agreement, and Kaede smiled her thanks. "It is surprising indeed," she said. "We do not normally see such sickness at this time of year."

The two women contemplated this for a moment. Then the old woman lumbered to her feet, arthritic joints audibly creaking. She released a soft groan under her breath as she moved to one side of the room to get the rice for their breakfast. Kagome took this as her cue to retrieve water for cooking. Unable to visit the river without Kaede, her only option was to trek back to the well for their cooking water, knowing this morning's rice would taste of its mineral tang.

After their meal, Kaede left to treat Hayashi-san's foot, and Kagome began preparing the fever remedy. It was a simple mixture used specifically for children, one which she'd learned to make long ago. Willow bark to reduce fever, fennel to ease colic symptoms, and sometimes a few hyssop blossoms to alleviate the chest congestion or shortness of breath that often attended fever.

Kagome spent over an hour grinding enough paste for all four families. Thankfully Kaede had all the necessary ingredients either drying in the hut or growing in the garden.

She set out from the hut at mid-morning, carrying four wooden bowls of fever remedy stacked and tied up in a cloth sack. As she trotted through the village and got closer to the first family's hut, butterflies—no, more like an angry flock of crows—flapped and scraped against her insides. Without any more busy work to preoccupy her, she belatedly realized that she was _anxious_. She hated to admit it, even to herself, but she had no idea what to expect. She had not spoken more than a passing word to any of these women—or for that matter, anyone in their families—since she'd been put on "probation" by the headman. Like most of the villagers, they had chosen to ignore her whenever possible.

 _Surely this won't be too disagreeable_ , she reasoned with herself as she approached the Ueda's hut. _I'm bringing medicine for their children. And Kaede already told them to expect me, so it's not like it'll be a surprise._

When she was a few yards away from the door of the Ueda's hut—intending to rap her knuckles against the doorframe to announce her arrival—a tall, broad figure stepped through it and stopped directly in her path.

She halted in surprise.  Ueda Kumiko’s husband stood before her, strong legs spread apart and arms crossed over his chest, expression blank as he stared just over her head. He looked for all the world like a guardsman preparing to face an invading army.

“Ah, Ueda-san,” she said, fighting the urge to fidget. She bowed politely. “I’m here to deliver medicine.”

He did not return her bow or look her in the eyes, continuing to stare at a point above her head. “And where is Kaede-sama?”

“She needed to attend to Hayashi-san’s injury. She sent me in her stead.”

Ueda-san frowned but said nothing.

Kagome hesitated, eying the stiff set of his shoulders and his tightening grip on his forearms. “If you’ll allow me, Ueda-san, I will show you how to administer the fever remedy. Is it your daughters who—?”

“That will not be necessary.”

Kagome shifted on her feet. “Oh? Is… have your daughters improved?”

“Your assistance is not necessary.”

Her fingers clenched around the sack she carried. She forced herself to speak calmly. “Are your daughters still ill?”

His frown deepened, but he gave a curt nod.

“Then let me pass and I will treat them.”

He stepped forward—such a small movement, yet so rife with hostility—and finally met her eyes. She nearly stepped back at what she saw in his. “I cannot allow you near my daughters. I must insist that you leave now.”

Anger flared and mixed with the traces of fear licking up her spine. “Please, Ueda-san, your daughters are sick. You must think of their welfare. If left untreated—”

“I _am_ thinking of them,” he cut in, “and that is why I'm telling you to leave.”

“ _Please_ , think about this. Don't be shortsighted. I only want—”

“You will not see my daughters. You must leave.”

They stood, locked in place, staring at each other for what seemed a small eternity. Despite their proximity, it felt as though a great distance stretched between them, unfolding and growing before her very eyes. And with a pang that shot straight through her chest, Kagome suddenly understood what spurred that distance: more than simply Ueda-san’s distrust of her, it was his genuine belief that Kagome was more dangerous to his family than the sickness that could threaten their lives. In his eyes, she was the greater risk. The greater menace.

A cold, leaden weight settled in her stomach. Her lips pressed together in a tight line. The anger and fear warring inside of her were suddenly overwhelmed by something far worse. It tasted bitter and stung like grief.

Finally, Kagome simply nodded. “All right. I’ll go.” Reaching inside the cloth sack, she withdrew a bowl of fever remedy. Knowing better than to try handing it to Ueda-san, she set it on the ground between them.

“Medicine,” she said, “for their fevers. Dissolve the paste in boiling water to make a tea. Have them drink it twice a day, once in the morning and again in the evening. If they don’t improve in a few days, come speak to Kaede.”

She turned to go, then paused and said over her shoulder, “Kaede mixed the remedy herself, so you need not worry about using it.”

This time she found lying easy.

After that, Kagome was not surprised by the other families’ reception of her. She found Miyamoto-san weeding in her garden, and with a quick frowning glance at Kagome, the woman told her to leave the medicine by the garden fence and be gone. Kagome woodenly repeated the medicinal instructions and left without another word. At the Ishikawa’s hut, the mother claimed that her son was no longer even sick and refused the medicine when Kagome tried to give it to her. With a sigh, Kagome listed the instructions anyway and left the bowl at their door, praying Ishikawa-san would overcome her stubbornness.

Only the Kawaguchi’s, though not friendly by any means, were even willing to let her see their child. The mother, Ayako, clutched the baby close to her chest as though she was ready to run at any moment; but she allowed Kagome to check the infant’s fever, and demonstrate how to make the medicinal tea. Kagome suspected this courtesy was given her only because of Kawaguchi-san’s respect for Kaede—and perhaps because Kagome had helped in delivering the child all those weeks ago—but whatever the reason, she was grateful for it.

It was nearly noon by the time all the medicine had been delivered. Kagome began walking back to Kaede’s hut, the leaden weight in her stomach expanding with every step, reaching throughout her body, dragging down her limbs. She felt more tired than she could ever remember being, and her throat ached with the tears she’d been restraining since her confrontation with Ueda-san.

Was it really just this morning—just mere hours ago—that she’d sat next to Inuyasha, eating, talking, feeling a strange camaraderie building between them in the dark? Yes, he had insulted her. He had walked off with no explanation. But he had still eaten with her. He had still talked with her, shared with her in a way that had obviously startled even him. He had even allowed her to touch him. And naïve though it might be, she could not deny the ease she had felt with him. An ease she had not felt with anyone since Kaede.

Ueda-san’s hostility, Miyamoto-san’s dismissal, the distrust she saw in every face… they began to fade in the memory of golden eyes that looked directly at her, and a gruff voice that spoke to her with no trace of fear.

The desire to see Inuyasha—to speak with him again, to look him in the eye—welled up in her chest, cutting loose some of the heaviness tugging at her. She wanted to see him, she _needed_ to see him. Picking up her pace, impelled by the fluttering anticipation in her chest and heedless of anything else, Kagome bypassed Kaede’s hut and headed for the well house.    

 

* * *

 

Inuyasha found nothing of particular interest during his sweep of the forest. A couple of boar yōkai travelling in the direction of the village, a snake yōkai with a slightly wicked aura—he dispatched all three easily enough. He'd patrolled for another couple hours before deciding to hunt down some food. The wench's rice balls had long since been digested and he was ready to eat.

In short order he sniffed out a couple rabbits in the forest undergrowth and made swift work of them. Laying their bodies on the ground, he dropped to a crouch and began to skin and butcher the meat.

All the while, hovering in the back of his mind, he could not stop thinking over the wench's scent, the odd tinge he'd noticed in it this morning. He'd never encountered anything like it before, and it unsettled him. It had not been the scent of sickness, not disease or injury. It had not been the scent of pregnancy, nor of a woman's monthly fertility. He'd never spent any significant amount of time around women, but he'd known enough of them to recognize those scents—that's not what he'd picked up from the miko.

Then again, could he even be sure he hadn't imagined it? It had been so faint, so miniscule... it could have been nothing, a mere shift in the wind, the residual odor of some other villager's scent clinging to hers.

With a grunt, Inuyasha finished cutting up the first rabbit and moved onto the second.

But in the moments when he'd smelled it, it had seemed... strange. Cloying, intrusive, _other_. It was somehow at odds with the rest of her scent.

Her scent. Fresh. Alive. Innocent. Thinking about it almost had his ear tingling in remembrance of her touch. That scent was so... so...

So _close_.

Inuyasha froze, nose automatically lifting into the air.

 _What the hell?_ He inhaled slowly, and sure enough, there it was. The freshness of her scent, though still a ways off, was coming towards him. Beckoning to him through the trees. He scowled. "What's that damn bitch doing out here _again_? I just got rid of her."

He dropped the rabbit and stood up, body taut with sudden anticipation. Was she out here looking for him, or did she have some other purpose? What could she possibly be doing this deep in the forest? He sniffed the air again and his scowl grew darker. Alone. She was wandering out here alone. What—

A scream rent through the woods.

His entire body tensed, and then another scream—this one more desperate—rang out, pierced through him.

"Kagome!"

He was sprinting through the trees before he'd finished uttering her name, legs pumping frantically, thoughts a confused whir.

He could smell her, but he couldn't hear her. With every passing second, his heart climbed further up his throat. He didn't know whether to be worried or relieved that she hadn't screamed again—she could be out of danger or she could be unconscious... or dead.   

His gut clenched at the last thought. He tried to focus all his senses outward, towards the direction of her scent, as a growl ripped from his throat. Fuck that. That bitch had no right to die on him. Not after all the shit she'd put him through. He'd be pissed as hell if she died _now_.

He caught movement in his peripheral vision. He turned his head and his lungs suddenly constricted. There! There she was!

Relief, nearly staggering in its intensity, washed over him as he finally spotted her: the pale green and white stripes of her kimono flashed between tree trunks, dark hair streaming behind her as she ran. She was some distance ahead of him, far off to his right, weaving quickly through the trees. And following her, just on her tail, scuttled a spider yōkai the size of a grizzly bear.

 _What the fuck?!_ How had he not scented that thing earlier? It was massive, hairy, colored a dark, glut purple, and much quicker than it should be given its size. He couldn't smell it, not even this close to—

The spider made a low screeching sound, followed by a series of clicks. Kagome shrieked.

With a ferocious snarl, Inuyasha raced even faster, determined to reach Kagome before the yōkai that was fast gaining on her. But he realized with a blaze of panic that he wouldn't make it—she was too slow and the spider too fast.

"Kagome! You can't outrun it! Turn around and blast it!"

Either she hadn't heard him or she was too scared to listen, because she just kept running, and the yōkai kept getting closer.

"Fuck!" He urged his body forward, pushed it to move even faster. "Use your godsdamned power and destroy it!"

Still running, she turned her head and threw a terrified glance at him over her shoulder. Grey eyes locked with his for the briefest moment. Then she was skidding to a halt and swinging around to face the spider, both arms thrown straight out in front of her. Her hands began to glow, a white light emanating from her very skin, and—

Her hands flinched violently, then balled into fists. Her arms drew halfway back towards her body as the white glow disappeared as if it had never been. He heard her faint whimper and saw her eyes shutter.

" _What are you doing_?! Kill it!!"

Even as he screamed at her, the spider yōkai was upon her. It reared up onto its hind-ward legs, and with bone-rattling force heaved its body down on her, knocking her to the ground. It hovered over her while she lay directly underneath it, caged between all eight of its legs. Even from a distance, Inuyasha could see the flash of the spider's sharp mandibles, dripping with venom. In the next instant, it was raising its bloated abdomen, readying its stinger for one swift stab.

The breath left Inuyasha's lungs. His blood drummed in his ears so loudly it drowned out all sound.

There was a sharp, resonant pulse at his left hip. Then another. Without conscious thought, quicker than his indrawn breath, his hand gripped his sword hilt. It pulsed in his hand, crackled beneath his fingers, and by his next exhale, he'd drawn the sword.

A quick flash of light. A heavy weight that his arms had to fight against as he lifted the sword above his head and threw it with all his strength.

A metallic _shing_ sounded as the blade soared through the air. Then a sound like a cleaver slicing through meat. A sickening wet _squish_. 

With a high-pitched keen, the spider slumped down, its legs jerking violently before collapsing. But the giant steel fang impaled lengthwise through its abdomen—sword tip imbedded into the ground on its other side—kept the spider's body from crushing the girl lying beneath it.

 _Kagome!_                  

Inuyasha flew the remaining distance between them. The spider's legs were still twitching when he slid to a stop beside it. He reached beneath the corpse and pulled Kagome up. Angling her away from the spider—putting his own body between them—he gripped her upper arms and held her directly in front of him, her feet dangling off the ground. He stared into her face.

Wide grey eyes stared back at him. _Alive, alive_ , his mind chanted, and he nearly dropped her in relief. His eyes raked over her body, checking for signs of injury; at the same time his nostrils flared, scenting for any hidden wounds. He detected some of her blood, but it was faint enough that it didn't immediately worry him—likely a scrape or shallow cut. No deep-blood smell, no scent of venom, no obvious signs of pain.

_Alive, alive, she's alive, she's fine._

The adrenaline that had fueled his body for the last several minutes crashed, hard. His shoulders slumped, his head bowing forward as he released a gusty sigh.

He gradually became aware that she was speaking to him.

"—don't know where it came from! It was just _there_ , and it was rushing right at me, and I—"

His fingers tightened around her arms.

"—didn't know what to do. It was... it kept _clicking_ , non-stop. It was almost like it was _speaking_ —"

He felt the beginnings of a growl deep in his chest.

"I sensed you nearby and I tried to make for your direction but—"        

 "You _idiot_!"

His throat felt raw from the force of his shout. He raised his head to meet her gaze and had to resist the urge to shake her.

"You slow-as-shit, brain-addled _dolt_! Why the fuck didn't you blast that thing when you had the chance?! _You were almost killed_!"

She flinched back. Her lips trembled before her mouth opened, but she didn't say anything.

"I've watched you take out a yōkai three times that size with a single godsdamned hand! I saw your power, I saw you start to fight it—why didn't you finish it?!"

He set her down on her feet and then gave into his earlier impulse, shaking her briefly but sharply, sending her hair flying around her face. "Just what were you playing at, bitch?"

She tried to step away from him, but he kept his grip firm around her arms. The shock in her features was fast replaced by indignation. Her eyes sparked and narrowed before she yelled, "I couldn't, okay? I _couldn't_!"

"Just _what_ does _that_ mean?" 

"It _means_ that I couldn't do it." She turned her head away, eyes dropping to the ground, but her voice was still raised. "I couldn't use my power."

"Why the fuck not?"

Her lips pressed together.

He nearly shook her again. She must have sensed his rising anger, because she glanced back at him and said, "If I'd used my power, they'd find out. They always find out."

His lip curled. "What the hell are you talking about? You're not making any sense! Just tell me why the fuck you didn't have enough brains to save your own hide!"

"It's not like I was _looking_ to die, you jerk!" She lurched forward, grabbed two fistfuls of silver hair hanging by his face, and tugged. He grit his teeth and bit back a wince. "But when I felt my power, I remembered—and I..." She shook her head. "I couldn't risk it! I've _seen_ what happens when I use it, when I can't control it. And if the others found out, they'd hate me. They'd—I might as well—"

"You might as well what? Be dead? Because that's what _you almost were_! Stupid, _stupid_!"

"I told you! I can't use my powers!"

"Why _not_?!"

"Because they'll destroy my life!"

She stopped abruptly. Her grip on his hair loosened.

At her continued silence, his eyes narrowed. She stared at him with a stricken expression, eyes wide and sorrowful, and he was fairly certain that look had little to do with her near death-by-spider experience.

Finally, she whispered, "You don't understand. I just... couldn't do it."

Fury, muted only by that stricken look in her eyes, bubbled beneath his skin. Hands still gripping her arms, he pulled her closer and dropped his head down so that his eyes were level with hers. She flinched back at the sharp anger simmering there.

"You _idiot_." His voice was hushed, a subdued rumble, but she shrank from him in a way she hadn't when he'd been shouting. "Damn right I don't understand. I don't care what your reason is, it isn't good enough. When your life is threatened, you do _everything_ you can to save it, you hear me?" He uttered a low snarl to emphasize his point. "Next time you're attacked, don't waste your time _thinking_ —do what it takes to survive."

He held her gaze a moment longer, then released her arms. She didn't step back as he expected her to, though her fingers fell away from his hair.

She was looking at him as if she was seeing him for the very first time. "You... Inuyasha, were you... worried?"

 "What kind of stupid question is that? You were one fucking second away from death! Stupid bitch. If it hadn't been for—"

Realization, a jolt in his gut like a flash of lightening, pierced him. He sucked in a shallow breath. Slowly, turning marginally on his heel, he craned his head back towards the spider demon—more precisely, towards the steel fang pinning the demon's corpse to the ground.

_Holy. Fuck._

The sword. _His_ sword.

Tetsusaiga had transformed.

He realized only vaguely that Kagome was speaking again.

"Inuyasha?" She sounded flustered, a little hesitant. "Thank you. For saving me, I mean. You didn't have to, and... thank you."

Even as he watched, Tetsusaiga pulsed again—once, twice, thrice—and with each pulse it shrank, slowly dwindling back into the average-sized, battered, _useless_ sword he was familiar with. He reached out, gripped its hilt, and yanked it out of the demon’s corpse—an easy task now that the blade was small again. The spider dropped to the ground with a crashing _whump_.

He looked at the decrepit sword in his hand, and his mind kept circling around the same thought, the same words repeating themselves in an endless loop. _Tetsusaiga transformed_. 

Briefly, to be sure, but it had still _transformed_. The sword hadn't transformed in decades. Not since his mother was alive.

"Inuyasha? Are you all right? You're not hurt, are you?"

His gaze shifted back to Kagome—absently took in the mess of dark hair around her face, the wide eyes, the lowered brows, her teeth digging into her bottom lip—but his thoughts never strayed from the sword.

What had caused Tetsusaiga to transform? It hadn't done so since his mother's death. Before that, Tetsusaiga had transformed whenever he needed it. He couldn’t think of a time back then when it had failed him. But after his mother’s death, after he’d left the castle… it was like Tetsusaiga had died, too. It wouldn’t become the fang of legend, no matter what he did. It refused to be anything other than a weak excuse for a blade—as if it, too, had given up on him. He’d tried everything under the sun, twice over, to make Tetsusaiga respond to him again, but nothing had ever succeeded.

So why had it worked now? What the hell had he done that was so special? It couldn’t have been the danger posed by the spider yōkai. No way _that_ was it. He’d wielded Tetsusaiga against much greater threats, when his life had been threatened by far stronger yōkai, and it had never—

His thoughts came to a sudden halt. For a moment, both his body and his mind were perfectly and utterly still.

And then, pinning him down as ruthlessly as he’d pinned that spider, one thought: it wasn’t _his_ life that had been threatened this time, was it? He hadn’t been fighting for himself. It had been for—

His eyes met Kagome’s as the air left his lungs.

 _No._ Fuck _no. That makes no sense. That can’t be it._

But even as he tried to deny it, something inside him snapped into place, like a key sliding into its lock. The tiniest corresponding pulse throbbed from the blade in his hand.

His fingers tightened around Tetsusaiga’s hilt before he slid it back into its sheath at his side. He felt a dull ache in his mouth, and realized he’d been grinding his teeth. He took a deep breath and forced his jaw to relax.

 _It makes no sense. Why—why would_ she _—_

A small hand reached out, clutched his sleeve. “Inuyasha, are you okay?”

His ears twitched at the sound of her voice, eyes glancing down at the fingers delicately clasping his suikan before rising again to connect with hers. Soft, concerned, insistent—her eyes were just as expressive as her scent. But they didn’t tell him what he most needed to know.

 _Who the hell_ are _you, woman?_

She opened her mouth to speak, but he shook his head at her. “M’fine,” he said, and his voice sounded rough even to his ears. He cleared his throat and tried again. “You all right? That yōkai knocked you down pretty hard.”

She continued to watch him carefully, as though trying to read his thoughts. “I’m fine. A little bruised and achy, but nothing serious.”

He grunted, finding words—and any further thought—extremely difficult. He wanted to ask her what the hell she’d been thinking when she left her village ( _again_ ); he wanted to ask her why she couldn’t leave him the hell alone; he wanted to tell her to keep her damn gentle eyes and soothing scent and innocent touch to herself.

He wanted to ask her what she'd done to his sword.

But more than anything else, he felt the visceral urge to find a secluded place and absorb its quiet, to calm the clamor and confusion of his thoughts. But he couldn’t calm himself when she was standing there _looking_ at him like that.

“C’mon,” he said, and then—to their mutual astonishment—he picked her up off her feet and gathered her against his chest. Turning in the direction of the village, he set off at a sprint. “You’re going back to your village, where it’s _safe_. For fuck’s sake, Kagome, didn't I warn you not to run around the forest alone? Next time I’m letting the yōkai eat you.”

She inhaled, but instead of hollering at him as he expected her to, she whispered softly, “You said my name.”

He glanced down at her. “What?”

Her cheeks pinked under his gaze, eyes intent on his. “You’ve just… you’ve never said my name before.”

Heat spread across his nose, and something stirred in his gut. He ignored it and, scowling, looked straight ahead as they approached the village. “Yeah, and what of it?”

He may not have been looking at her, but he heard the smile in her voice. “Nothing. Thank you, Inuyasha.”

And despite himself, he had to admit—he liked hearing her say his name, too.

   

* * *

 

After dropping Kagome off just outside the village—and waiting until she was back inside the wall—he returned to the spot where the spider corpse lay. Because as much as he craved the quiet of foliage and the distance of a tall tree, he needed to examine the spider yōkai first.

He needed to figure out why the hell it didn’t have a scent.

It only took him a few minutes to locate the spot. He crouched next to the spider’s hulking, hirsute body, its legs curling in on themselves. Closing his eyes, he inhaled deeply and slowly.

Nothing. He smelled pine trees, and river water, and soil, and the faint traces of blood from the rabbits he’d killed; he smelled crows nesting in the foliage above, and squirrels scurrying a few miles away, and gophers digging below him; he smelled Kagome’s lingering scent, along with his own; but he could smell nothing from the yōkai. He was mere feet away from it—he could reach out and touch it—but he couldn’t scent it. Like it wasn’t even there.

Like it was a living void.

Opening his eyes, he stood up and took a closer look at its body. He reached out to lift one of its legs—

A grating, high-pitched “Ahem!” sounded behind him.

He whirled, crouching low and claws at the ready.

Pale, bulbous eyes glared at him.

“Report, half-breed!”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Term(s):  
> Shishi: translated as "lion," it can also refer to a deer or dog with magical properties and the power to repel evil spirits. A pair of shishi traditionally stand guard outside the gates of Shinto shrines and Buddhist temples. 
> 
> This chapter was even harder to write than the last one (my only consolation is that it's longer). It's a little rough, and I may have to come back and edit a few scenes, but I hope it was fun to read. It's laying the groundwork for some important developments later on. I hope you all enjoyed! Leave a review and let me know what you think!


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